Someday You'll Learn to LoveMe
by Dorotheian
Summary: In which Izaya gets this bright idea to lie low in Ikebukuro and avoid attracting attention with his information brokerage after the events of "World at Peace" by joining L.M.E., dragging an unwilling Shizuo with him straight into the LoveMe section. Too late to get out now, there are life lessons to be learned! (IzaNami, Shinra/Celty, Kyoko/Tsuruga)
1. Prologue

_About: So far, so good. This fanfic is based on the aftermath of the _Durarara_ anime, (at least until new sources— translated light novels or new seasons—come into my hands...) However, the _Skip Beat!_ part of the fanfic is based on the entire manga, not just the anime, at least until shortly after the Valentine's Day arc._

_Disclaimer: I'm only stating this once. I do not profit from this work of fan fiction. I do not own the characters who I am borrowing from_ Durarara _and _Skip Beat!. _I do not write canon, I derive my work from canon. Questions? No? Didn't think so._

* * *

Durarara + Skip Beat! Crossover Fanfic: _Someday, You'll Learn to LoveMe_

_In which_ **Izaya** gets a bright idea to lie low in **Ikebukuro** and build his information brokerage by joining **L.M.E.**, dragging an unwilling **Shizuo** with him straight into the **LoveMe** section. Too late to get out now, there are life lessons to be learned!

* * *

_Characters: Izaya Orihara, Simon Brezhnev, Shizuo Heiwajima, Saki Mikajima, Masaomi Kida, Kasuka Heiwajima (Yuuhei Hanejima), Celty Sturluson, Dr. Namie Yagiri_

Prologue

If anyone had suggested six months prior that Izaya would spend any time in showbiz while he was still information broker, Shadow Lord of Ikebukuro, he would have laughed in their faces. Very loudly. And likely, soundly insulted them for their idiocy. And they _would_ have been idiots, to say it to his face, or to think that he would willingly leave the business. However, this unlikely situation would never come about naturally, so the hypotheticals are amusing but mean little.

Izaya had never been the most predictable of individuals, and time can change a person. A month or so after the Yellow Scarves gang collapsed, Izaya suddenly announced that he was going back underground. He commemorated the move by provoking a satisfying fight with Shizuo Heiwajima, which was, to date, the greatest fight Izaya had ever had with Shizuo. The proof was that it trashed most of Ikebukuro's sidewalks, vending machines, and traffic signs, and the damage was too severe to be immediately fixed by the city. Shortly after, Izaya disappeared, as good as his word.

This move was perhaps precipitated by the black eye he had gotten from Simon, the sushi-restaurant bouncer, a week or two prior. Simon apparently decided that pacifistic words did not work with Izaya and that he probably deserved a little rough handling for playing half the gangs in the city willy-nilly. If it wasn't that, Simon probably felt it was fair to do it on the behalf of Izaya's ward, Saki Mikajima, who had been willingly manipulated by him for the good part of two years, gotten hospitalized for her trouble, and had finally broken free. She ran off with the kid who used to lead Yellow Scarves gang, Masaomi Kida, who had also been Izaya's personal pet project. They had last been seen at Simon's restaurant. The loss was entirely Izaya's fault; he hadn't calculated the odds right.

Whatever the reason, if you got punched by Simon, your days in Ikebukuro were close to being over: Simon was strong—next to Shizuo himself, the second-strongest man in Ikebukuro—and well-liked by everyone, and he knew a little about everyone, although he got by with being thought eccentric and not terribly bright. This was not actually the case. Izaya knew that Simon was a law unto himself, and that in the future, Izaya would have to be more subtle.

In any case, he couldn't stay in Ikebukuro with _both_ the strongest men as his enemies.

But that wasn't the point. When Simon had punched Izaya, thereby indicating that he had better disappear soon, Izaya had landed near the LME business sign. Fittingly or not, the sign spelled, "L_O_VE." It was a matter of inspiration for Izaya.

While he lay on his back in the dirt, feeling the blood pounding in his head, he tried not to hate Simon for spoiling his already-rotten victory. _I love humans. I love the human race. I love humanity_, he thought in his head, as if it were a mantra. Izaya pulled himself together and staggered home, and ordered Namie to fetch the ice. He spent the next few hours wondering what new thing in his life could possibly bring as much fun as his "information broker" position.

Ultimately, he had failed to waken Celty's head. So what, perhaps his theories were wrong. Or maybe it wasn't a real war that he had created. Nevertheless, Izaya was bored by it. Dead end. He could send it to some war-torn country and test his theory that way, but he felt a curious reluctance to leave—no, _lose_ it. Perhaps a lingering affection for Celty made him wish not to send it out of his sight? No matter. It was staying in this room, Izaya decided.

What next, then?

He liked tipping people over the edge. He couldn't help himself. It was such a rush, making them mad, and when they were mad, they could be pushed in whichever direction he wanted. If anger didn't work, flattery usually did. It was simply a matter of judging the person.

But Izaya didn't think that he could get away with just that. He was too noticeable, too infamous in Ikebukuro; the half-truths would quickly start to pile up, and before long, Izaya would punch out one more spot on the globe where he would be definitely Not Welcome. And it hurt too much to have to find a new home all the time...

He would have to settle for second-best.

What about acting? Izaya often acted like a different person to get people on his side. Eventually, yes, the façade went away—it was too boring _not_ to be himself with the people he really liked, enemies or not—but he had the talent to do it.

Acting. For a while he would be unknown, perfectly hidden underground. If he went high enough, it was likely that no one would be able to connect him with wrong. Perhaps if he became famous enough, he could return to Ikebukuro and the unpleasant scandals would be covered up with the young city's blind idol-worship. He could become a permanent fixture in every household...he always wanted to become something like that...a prized member of humanity. Like a demigod! Sounded good. He wasn't sure, but Simon would probably cool off after a couple of months of relative peace once Izaya's meddling absented the city. And then he could come back.

Izaya twirled around in his favorite office chair, whizzing around like a kid. Suddenly, a brightly-colored _something_ caught his eye, and he put his feet down sharply, leaping out of the chair so fast that it bucked backwards.

He crouched, and saw it. The magazine, on the coffee table. Probably Namie's. Ah. It was an ad for some new movie. He scanned it; yes. There was Kasuka Heiwajima, brother of Heiwajima Shizuo (they looked nothing alike), currently one of showbiz's more popular stars.

Izaya began to smile.

After a couple of phone calls, a couple internet searches, a quick trip to LME's company website, and an in-depth comparison of all of his available options, Izaya had all the information he needed to make his decision. It hadn't taken Izaya long to realize that LME was the best and brightest of all the agencies that guided new stars towards breakout into showbiz. Even if it was a little kooky. _Perfect_.

His grin grew wider.

* * *

Namie took one look at Izaya and crept upstairs to the kitchen to make him dinner. She decided she would a vengeful pot of chili-curry so spicy that he couldn't eat it. Izaya probably shouldn't have let on that he liked bland food best. Maybe then he would finally fire her.

... Even after she had ruined the TV with the soda the other day! She still didn't trust him. He really should have gotten angry about that. It was utterly unlike him. Izaya got home, he ordered an ice-pack, and then he went to bed early. He hadn't questioned her or anything, and when he found out about it, he stared at her a moment and simply ordered a new one, with the latest in 3D holographic capability this time.

As if she needed reminding that the man was filthy rich. And here she was, acting petulantly like a child, because her own schemes ended in failure. No, she _didn't care_ about that. She clutched her wooden spoon and fired up the stove. Actually, she knew just the thing: Korean black bean sauce. Thick and full of flavor, gummy, shiny and dark as chocolate, leaving an oddly satisfying taste in your mouth that was as hard to erase as oil from white office paper. Oh, Izaya would just hate it...

"Namie-san, are you _in love _with me?" Izaya's voice floated up from his lair. "Your tender loving care sends chills down my spine."

Namie put down her spoon on the counter and shuddered. The man was almost _telepathic._ Then she raised her head, and rushed to make _both _dishes, cursing the black fate that led her to this place. It was the least she could do to give him a taste of her grief. And, she knew, the only thing Izaya hated more than spicy food was cold leftovers. The poor sod couldn't cook anything for himself, except maybe rice and TV dinners.

Izaya would suspect nothing coming. Namie knew better than to cackle like a witch when she brewed poison.

* * *

Author's note: You know that L_O_VE sculpture/sign featured prominently in the first _Skip Beat!_ anime opening? It fit so perfectly, I assumed it went with the LME business, although it looked rather too familiar and iconic for that. Actually, there are a bunch of copies of Robert Indiana's original sculpture all over the world: wiki/List_of_Love_sculptures. For the purposes of this fanfic, we'll pretend that L_O_VE in front of Shinjuku I-LAND Tower doesn't exist (look it up on Google Earth, there's a 3D sphere of it), and that Lory Takarada was rich and vain enough to commission one for his business _first_. Yes, he was. Got it? That's LME's logo now.

OK, besides that, feel free to review and tell me what you think. Always. _Always_.


	2. Interlude 1

_Author's note: This part is inscrutable to people who haven't watched _Durarara_ or payed attention to the chat scenes. The Dollars, who use this chat, are a "colorless" or "invisible" gang that started as a joke which anyone could join, but found its raison-d'étre by doing good deeds to make a positive difference in society. "Dollars," or "daraazu," comes from Japanese onomatopoeia, "dara-dara," which refers to something moving sluggishly - ahem, uselessly doing nothing. Like gossip! It's almost a self-criticism. Every member of the Dollars is represented by a penname in the chat room; some know each other's screen names, some don't. Silly, not vital, but they provide an interesting look back at gossip in Ikebukuro._

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Interlude #1: Dollars Internet Chat

**Tanaka Tarou:** Hello!

**Bakyura: **_Konbanwa_.

**Setton: **_Doumo_.

**Tanaka Tarou: **How are you?

**Setton: **Fine, it's been a while, huh? _Ohisashiburi desu ne_.

**Bakyura: **Yeah! Hey, Tanaka!

**Tanaka Tarou: **What's the news?

**Setton: **...

**Tanaka Tarou: **We haven't heard from Kanra in several weeks... :-/ Seems like he always has the latest good stuff...

* * *

_Izaya giggles. No one has ever guessed his identity. He should get a new screen name, and see what happens. He's lucky he thought to steal a moderator's privileges before Mikado upgraded the website; he still has them, and the invisibility is proving quite useful. He can wait a while before thinking up a new identity._

* * *

**Bakyura: **Did he make good on his promise to go underground?

—Invisible, _dara-dara_?

—Prima-donna example of a good Dollars member?

* * *

_How true. Masaomi's instincts have always been so good!_

* * *

******Tanaka Tarou:** It seems so. Stop snickering.

**Setton: **It's all right. I see Bakyura came back! :))

**Tanaka Tarou: **Welcome back!

**Bakyura: **_Ohaiyo_! Die, Kanra

* * *

_Oh, that hurt. Izaya clutches his heart, mocking the "throes of death" while dying of laughter._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Kanra's not on, Bakyura. (...)

**Bakyura: **An ill-wishing wouldn't hurt that guy...

* * *

_He's right about that._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Be nice! Please remember, I have to mod...

**Setton: **Don't hold your breath. He'll be back. Before you know it, so enjoy it.

**Saika: **Tanaka Tarou Tanaka Tarou Tanaka Tarou

**Tanaka Tarou: **Missed you too!

—So, what are your plans for the winter?

**Saika: **I think—nothing happens really in the winter...

* * *

_Clearly, Izaya has not been diligent enough in stirring up trouble. He'd never noticed that his patterns might have corresponded to the weather. Now that he thought about it, it may have been true... Intriguing, this idea. Should he shake it up?_

* * *

**Bakyura: **Hey! Don't sell winter short! Typhooooon!

* * *

_Thank you, Masaomi. I don't have to do anything now._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Since when—? Wait, isn't winter in a couple of _months_? What am I talking about?

**Bakyura: **_I_ sure don't know. Don't you remember, I'm still on vacation?

**Tanaka Tarou:** Oh, yeah...

**Bakyura:** Lovestruck?

**Tanaka Tarou:** Hey!_ Shut up_! Just because you are, doesn't mean the whole world is also! ...

**Bakyura:** You know, _they can hear you_.

**Tanaka Tarou:** Aa, ah! *is mortified*

**Setton & Saika:** *giggle*

**Bakyura:** I mean, _read_ _you_. I wonder who was more embarrassed, me, you, or the people of the outside world? I enjoy teasing you _so much_, but Saki's calling me. See ya later.

* * *

_Izaya laughs. So Tanaka also has a girlfriend now. __Sick. How come all my stunningly intelligent protégées all want to grow up and get married? Then they leave me behind. They could do better. I hope Saki's enjoying herself. I can only imagine how long it will take before Masaomi's pigheaded, arrogant naivety will start to grate. But perhaps anyone is better than me, me, me... Izaya spins in his chair._

_Namie spots him right away. He's only so gleeful when he's being evil. __Namie says, "What are you doing, Izaya?"_

_Izaya: "Listening to gossip." (still spinning)_

_Namie: ..._

_Izaya stops, and says angelically: "I know, I'm just so immature."_

_Namie walks away. She doesn't want to know. But if she does that, she'll never figure out how important gossip is to Izaya's business. He wants her to learn. He thinks Namie could really have a knack for making trouble, if she tried her hand at it. He thinks that with the right waves, she might even win her business back. With a sigh, he turns off the computer monitor and gets dinner — ugh, leftovers. His stomach hurts._

_Well, what did he expect? Everyone hates Izaya. Especially his experienced students._


	3. Chapter 1

_Characters: Izaya Orihara, President Lory Takarada, Kanae Kotonami (Moko), Kyoko Mogami, Shizuo Heiwajima_

Chapter One: In Which Pandora's Fairy is Captured and a Vending Machine is Thrown with Unusual Ease of Practice

Izaya charmed the pretty LME secretaries into telling him what he needed to know about auditions, and they gave him packets on all the departments. Everything, everything, everything... Izaya _loved_ humans. He just wondered if they ever knew when to _shut_ _up_.

Well, whatever. It was fine. They had done well. Izaya had already figured out a scheme to get Shizuo where he wanted him, and he knew exactly which packet of propaganda to use.

In the meantime—

* * *

_Complete with whistles and cowbells, Lory Takarada, President of LME, walked by, his footsteps followed by a chaotically long line of people, props, costumes and musical cacophony, a collection which might be called a 'parade' and the term would still classify as an understatement..._

* * *

—Izaya completely lost his train of thought, which hadn't happened to him since before he came to Ikebukuro. Or perhaps that time when he first met Shizuo? He came to himself with a jolt. There was a girl with long black hair with a taut, sharp face and a fierce expression in a bright pink suit waving in front of his face.

She snapped her fingers. Didn't work. "Ah, mou," she said, and snapped them again. "Snap out of it!"

Izaya blinked and took a step back. "Uh. Thanks."

"Him!" The girl fumed, but stopped waving her hands in his face. "I wish President Takarada would _think_ about mortals like us. First meeting, everyone zones out! Mou!"

"He's like that every time?" Izaya's eyes dropped to the badge on the girl's chest. The circular badge, only slightly paler than the shocking pink suit, read, _LoveMe_. A cartoon hand with thumb and forefinger outstretched formed the L. Izaya grinned. A member of the mysterious section was here, right before his eyes.

"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "He's the president." The girl harrumphed again. "You get used to it, of course, although he never fails to surprise with the current theme of the day..."

"Moko-chan!" A happy, grinning orange-haired girl in a matching pink unifrom sprang out from behind a door somewhere. "It's time to go to work!... Eh? Who is this, Moko-chan?"

"Coming!" said the girl called Moko, whirling away from Izaya so fast that her long black hair hit his face. It stung. "Mou! I couldn't let this guy keep staring a hole in the wall—!"

"Aa? Is that right? But you don't usually bother with the newbies, Moko-chan..." said the orange-haired girl in a cheerful, adoring voice. Moko-chan said something to her friend, changed the subject. Immediately a black mood descended, and the other girl turned away without saying anything, and hurried away preoccupied.

New. New. _Newbie_? Izaya's cold, pitying crocodile smile snapped open and cracked a little wider. He'd show them. He would never stay that way for long.

Just then he felt something slam into the back of his neck, something so ice-cold that it was hot—_uuuh_, like dry ice—it slipped and slid down, underneath his shirt. Whatever it was wriggled and made small, murmuring noises. Irritated, Izaya reached back and pulled out the thing, wincing as its blue-black aura bit at his fingers. No doubt he now had a rather long ice-burn racing up and down his back.

The icy thing warmed up just enough that he could get a good look at it. It was a blue-spirit version of the orange-haired girl. It was crying pitifully and trying to escape, though its freeze-burning tail was trapped between Izaya's fingers. As soon as it noticed Izaya, it redoubled its efforts to exude the chilling, freezing aura, but Izaya was wise to it and quickly covered it over with his sleeves as a countermeasure.

The 'demon' and the boy stared at each other. Izaya's grin stretched. He put the girl-demon in his pocket, and zipped it shut. He was done here; he left and, once home, he trapped her under a mug. The girl-demon huddled in a pool of tears.

The day of the audition arrived. Izaya had put much thought and planning into it. He decided he was going to show off his Parkour skills by jumping all over the stage, if Shizuo didn't arrive. If Shizuo _did_ arrive, there would be an impressive fight. If only he could bring his knives. Izaya had already completed and entered Shizuo's paperwork for him; that was one advantage being an information broker afforded him. The trouble was making sure that Shizuo would arrive exactly when he was needed, and if he didn't come at that time exactly, then he needn't come at all. He managed it, though.

Izaya had planted a message to Shizuo yesterday with the LoveMe pamphlet. It was a time bomb. Lory Takarada's misplaced and romantically idealistic visions of love were just the kind of thing that was guaranteed to tick Shizuo off. Izaya then added his own message in Sharpie, writing it in English Pig Latin just to tick off Shizuo. Pig in his eye! That shouldn't be too hard for Shizuo, who was quizzically good at English while he struggled with other high school subjects. It was probably because he was actually interested. Anyhow, if Shizuo put his mind to it, Izaya figured that he would finish decoding fairly quickly. He helpfully included the time and place of the audition with normal Japanese words, so there would be no misunderstandings.

Which meant that if Shizuo didn't bother to look at the pamphlet, then he probably wouldn't come at all. If he was too late, Shizuo couldn't do anything, because of the witnesses, and the security. Not even Shizuo would test the likelihood of earning a lawsuit. Probably. Izaya checked the time.

He didn't wear anything particularly new, just his usual distinctive gothic outfit: black jeans, black shirt, black overcoat with brown faux-fur lining, black shoes, black hair. Nothing was new. It looked well-worn but un-scuffed. He kept the wide silver band on his finger and the silver cylinder earmark as well; though he thought the agency might not like those, they were a part of his edge.

Naturally, Shizuo would be wearing his bartender outfit. Izaya suddenly remembered last new year's resolutions—which he had promptly forgotten about, of course—one of which had been to get Shizuo to wear a new uniform... He laughed to himself.

There were other guys waiting for the audition. Some of them looked preppy and squeaky clean; these reminded him of Mikado, and his high school days with Shinra. Others were showy and brash, even punk, looking like they had dropped out of an amateur rock video. Naturally, no one wore their school uniforms. That would be uninspired.

The audition began. Izaya, along with the rest of the applicants, intoned his name, age, and blood type when his turn came. The judges asked a few questions about ambitions and motivations and so forth, and then the applicants were given time to prepare for their special talent section. Izaya fingered his watch.

"I am Izaya Orihara, number 46. Ouya, oiya, everyone." He waved. "My skills are called Parkour, which, simply put, is the way to move from point A to point B in a straight line despite obstacles. I have asked for the stage to be set up as an obstacle course." He surveyed the room. "Naturally, this is not enough."

He dragged a couple of chairs around, setting some upside down, some up, and some on their sides, and nudged the tables to less advantageous places.

"And now," he continued, "you will see me reach the summit—there." Izaya pointed to a point high in the air and beyond the judges—the video camera. The judges all twisted to see. "The video camera," Izaya clarified, with a small, pitying smile.

"That high?" one murmured in astonishment.

"Yes, yes. Have you got a timer?"

"Ah, yes." One man gulped and fiddled with a small pocketwatch device.

"Set it."

"Done. Are you ready?"

Izaya bowed.

"Set." Izaya straightened. "Go!"

Izaya lurched over the first hurdle, and got going uncannily fast. He leapt over the chairs and ducked under tables, swing around poles, flipped off the stage, and landed on the judges' table as smoothly as a cat. A few papers floated to the floor. Izaya dived forward again, grasping the rail behind them with his hands, and catapaulted himself to the seats of the grand theater hall that was also the audition room.

The judges, as expected, gasped and wrenched around so they could watch him. Izaya easily navigated the audience field, taking each empty chair one at a time by mostly running over the rims of their backs. He leaped, ran up the wall, sprang back to the last seat row and jumped to grasp the bars of the second story fence, flung himself up and around. He tilted across the last row of seats, ran up the wall again, and smacked the video camera. The filming crew gasped.

Izaya loped down to the first floor with a couple of casual swings and swatted the second video camera on the lower level. This time, he heard muffled cursing from the crew.

"I could touch them all for you," he offered. "There's at least two in the corners and two on the walls."

"No, no," said the judges, shaken. "That's quite enough." They could already hear the cries of the outraged stagecraft workers.

Izaya returned to the stage, and bowed. "That is my demonstration—" A flicker in the corner of his eye. He took a hop backwards and barely missed being hit with a vending machine. It landed and demolished the chair it landed on. The vending machine, Izaya noted, looked good as new—and, aside from a few scratches, unharmed. Rare. He flicked a glance at Shizuo.

"_**Iiiiii**_**zaaaaa**yaaaaaa!" bellowed Shizuo.

Izaya hissed like a cat and hooked a chair right back at him, echoing in singsong counterpoint, "_**Shiiii**_**zuuuu**oooooo!"

It would have made a glorious crashing sound, but Shizuo snatched the chair out of the air and threw it down, spinning. Its stainless steel legs grated eerily as it scratched and slid across the waxed stage floor. Deliberately, he removed his blue sunglasses, took a toothpick out of his pocket, and snapped it.

The judges were silenced. The slight sound of the snapped wood bouncing on the stage could be heard.

"Pardon me," said Izaya with a sly grin, "It is time for my second performance of the day. Shizuo, you're late."

The judges gaped.

Their amazement irritated Shizuo. Out of sheer orneriness, he lit a cigarette and took a single puff. "Told you not to interfere with Ikebukuro," said Shizuo, swiping the smoldering butt on his boot.

Izaya crossed his arms. "This isn't Ikebukuro, Shizuo-_kun_. This is Tokyo. _Tokyo_, Shizu-_chan_."

"What's the difference?" Shizuo yelled. "Cut the crap! _Kuso_! Ikebukuro is part of Tokyo, you know! What do you want to do with this company? What the hell did you send me?"

"A recruiter's pamphlet," Izaya said smugly to Shizuo, then turned to the judges. "I have the honor of introducing you to Shizuo Heiwajima, number 47," and dodged a flying chair for his trouble.

Shizuo was livid, and he wasn't even breathing hard. "You mean," he said, his face like a death god's, "this is an audition."

"Of course. What were you expecting?"

Shizuo roared and leaped for Izaya. Izaya skirted him and slinked across the stage while Shizuo knocked chairs aside, skittered and slid in his formal black bartender shoes, and launched more things into the sky (to the judges' chagrin). With a critical eye, Izaya judged that the chairs missed hitting the stage's high ceiling by a mere five feet, and credited the unseen author of the universe for the luck that caused them to land, in fair shape, on the concrete floor just beyond the stage's delicate wood platform. Thank the author. Shizuo never thought properly about what he was doing, or where he was, beyond the heat of the moment.

"That's not fair, Shizu-chan," Izaya pouted. "Even if I had expected this, I couldn't bring my knives because of security reasons. Really, using the chairs is too much of an advantage for you—"

With a roar, Shizuo rushed forward, and Izaya led him on a merry dance before finally tiring of it. With the ease of planning and practice, Izaya ran up a wall, flipped, and landed on Shizuo's back. Izaya heard bones crunch and Shizuo crashed flat to the ground.

He did some quick grappling, knelt, and whispered in Shizuo's ear, "Let's try not to let them sue us, yes?"

He couldn't move. Izaya had made sure of that. Shizuo stiffened and grunted in response, and Izaya lightly sprang aside, letting him up. Shizuo stood warily, but didn't attack again.

The judges all stood up, cautiously.

"We're done," said Izaya, and walked back to the stage. To Shizuo's credit, it had not been irreparably trashed. He _had_ grown these past few months. Dazed, Shizuo followed him. "Thank you very much," Izaya said, casually taking Shizuo's hand and pulled them both into a deep bow. Shizuo's jaw clenched. "On _your_ time, I believe your back will heal in a week," said Izaya softly out of the corner of his mouth, so only Shizuo could hear. "No vending machines for you."

Shizuo ground his teeth.

"Stagehands, clean up. Next—Applicant number 48," said a shaken judge. Shizuo ripped his hand out of Izaya's, and the duo walked out.

Shizuo stalked off to wash his hands in the celebrities' clean and stainless steel sink. To be precise, to wash them _very_ thoroughly. Not that he'd ever admit to believing in such a thing as cooties.

Izaya was waiting by the door, texting. He put the phone away when Shizuo came out.

"What's next?" said Shizuo. "I thought you wrote that you'd come to showbiz to _ruin_ _my brother_ _Yuuhei's career_."

Izaya smiled. "Of course." Accenting his speech with large, elaborate gestures, he said, "In a matter of speaking. I'm only doing what all stars who apply are doing: aiming for the top, only to bury my foes in the forgetfulness of the public mind." He ended with a flourish, and looked at Shizuo expectantly.

Shizuo gave Izaya a look of utter disgust, sighed and pounded his head against the wall, making it shake. Heads popped out of offices to stare at them in alarm. "Shut. Up_._"

"We could go looking for Lory Takarada," Izaya suggested.

Shizuo glared at him, narrow-eyed, through blue sunglasses.

"After the next audition part, of course."

Shizuo's lips thinned.

Izaya preened. "Of course we all know who will win. It's the _acting_ part."

"Like hell you will," said Shizuo, extra loudly.

"Damn straight," Izaya shot back, and turned on his heel to go.

Incensed, Shizuo strode on ahead, and Izaya chuckled as he loped to keep up, tucking his hands in his fur-lined pockets.

It was just waiting and more waiting. Shizuo broke his toothpick five more times; then he twitched, rocked back and forth, and finally got up and paced—though it looked like he was stalking. Even the gothic rock-band boys kept away when he did that.

Izaya did what Izaya always did. He played around, turning on his phone and texting, flipping the top, playing a game, spinning on the ground... really, it didn't matter. Izaya looked like a mere kid next to the prowling Shizuo.

Finally all the boys were assembled, and the door opened for the next test.

"The _real_ test," Izaya said, widening his eyes, letting a golden beam envelop his face. He looked rather like an overgrown kitten.

As if. Devil-child. Shizuo spat, "Whassat? _Tch_!"

Izaya's eyes blinked amusement at him. Then Izaya's eyes swiveled, and he let the expression dissolve as he watched the crack between the doors intently.

"So what's the next test anyway?"

"The reaction test."

Shizuo crossed his arms and frowned. "Go on. Elaborate."

"The president of LME, Lory Takarada, commissions a script that is delivered via the cell phone, which is handed from applicant to applicant. When the recording on the phone ends, you act out your response."

"What the—?"

Izaya shrugged. "I'm not sure what they're looking for, myself, besides good acting, except—possibly—the president is rumored to—" The door opened, and the boys filed out the door in order. Izaya stood. "Oh, _sorry_, Shizu-chan. Later." He swaggered out the door.

"_Tch_," said Shizuo. He put away his toothpicks, and took his place in line.

The judges were lined up opposite twenty-five applicants, seated on chairs on the stage. On one end, a cell phone was passed along. Shizuo and Izaya, who were at the other end, would have to wait. Most of the conversations—quiet, tender, difficult to hear—were dull, clichéd stuff. Even the judges had given up pretending not to be bored. Lory Takarada, who hadn't been there before, lounged in his seat and didn't even look up.

Finally, it was Izaya's turn. He stood up, took the cell phone, put it to his ear.

"Hello. _Moshimoshi?_" Izaya's voice had that irritatingly casual, yet dangerous, sound that was sure to mean that he was toying with whoever was on the other end of the phone. He listened, and then his voice changed with recognition to a welcome, lighthearted tone. "Ah! It's you." He listened some more. "Eh? Are you sure about this? Is this for real?" He spun around, walked towards his seat, moving the phone away from his ear and back again, turned back and faced the judges. "Ah, yes, yes. Well, this is very bad. Very bad, but, it doesn't have to be the end of the world, ya know? There are lots of other fish in the sea." He put it closer to his ear. "Hah? Being told I'm a monster doesn't ruffle my feathers? Stuff like that? I'll tell you why." His voice got serious and darkened. "I _am_ a psychopathic monster. Ask anyone else in my business; they would say the same. When I was in school, everyone said I had the psychotic profile to match Iago's. You know, from _Othello_? Can you believe it? They put it right on the cover of my high school yearbook. It's not going to work, little girl. There is nothing you can do to hurt me. Do call me when you run into trouble again! Don't worry, I have faith that you can solve your own problems. So then, bye." He clicked the phone off and passed it to Shizuo.

Mentally, he took a step back when he saw the judges' faces—especially Lory's, whose face wore the expression of a kicked puppy. Maybe he had miscalculated. It was brilliant, the little monologue, but he'd known it was not what they wanted to hear. Izaya let it go. Not for one minute was this small setback going to ruin his plans. He'd _planned_ for this. He calmly sat down.

Shizuo hesitantly stood up and announced himself, then put the phone to his ear. "Eh?" He muttered, as nothing but static came through. He pulled out the antennae and replaced it. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What was that again?" His voice was resigned but irritated.

And now — crying. Eurgh, he hated it when girls cried. It was one reason why he liked Celty; she didn't have a head, so she didn't cry. Yeah, right. No, that wasn't it. Truthfully, she was just a very strong woman. When Celty cried, she would have a good reason for it.

"Yes, yes. What is it you want?" he said brusquely.

"_I love you_," said the girl.

"Okay..."

"But I'm breaking up with you."

_What_? The hell? Irritated, Shizuo balanced the phone on his shoulder. "I see. May I ask why?" Silence. Shizuo took the phone out of his ear, shook it, replaced it, took it out again. Put it back. "Come again?" Nothing. "Look, if I've done anything to offend you, it would be better if you would just come right out with it." Nothing. He frowned, and fiddled with the phone's flip lid before he put it back to his ear. "Here's the problem. If you can't say anything, I don't know why I'm even talking to you. You call this love? You haven't even got trust. Stuff some brains into your skull. Nothing's gonna change if you just rely on your fantastic boyfriend to read your mind—so in two seconds, if you don't tell me why, then _I'm_ breaking up with _you_, for your own good. Got it?" He nodded. "One... two..." He frowned and flipped the phone off.

He looked at the judges. "I'm not sure if I did it right. Was it supposed to go silent, or something?"

The judges conferred, looking at their scripts. "Uh... no..."

Lory's lower lip stuck out petulantly, making an unhappy face.

"Uh," said Shizuo. Definitely did something wrong. It was still unnerving, though he had never intended to audition in the first place...

"Even so," Takarada said, and stood, "You both failed." He swept out of the room.

Izaya smirked. Shizuo shrugged and glared at Izaya.

They all filed out of the auditorium. Sure enough, Shizuo's and Izaya's names were not on the "passing" list. Shizuo shrugged, unsurprised, and turned to leave. "Sorry, but," Shizuo said, "I can't stand to be in your presence, and work starts at 9:00 PM. Bye."

"Just wait, Shizuo." Izaya caught hold of Shizuo's sleeve. "I'm not done with you yet. Don't you want to know how you managed to lose with me? C'mon, you were the best! Besides, you wanted to meet Lory."

Shizuo ground his teeth. _Crap. He caught me._ He said nothing.

"I've got a secret." Izaya took a string out of his pocket and held it up. "It'll lead us to an insider who can get us the answers we want—or it'll lead us to Lory. Come on." He pulled it all the way out of his pocket and held it up. The blue girl-spirit.

Shizuo took a step back. "What the—"

Izaya always _had_ thought that Shizuo might be able to see the supernatural like him. Now he had proof. Not that this was helpful information, or anything—

"Don't worry, she's powerless," Izaya said, intending to be consoling—but coming from him, this was not comforting at all. "She'll lead us to her maker, the girl who broke Pandora's Box. Mind you, she's not half as powerful as Celty, or Celty's head."

Shizuo was about to relax, but caught himself. _What? Celty's head—what does _he_ know about it?_

From the corner of his eye, Izaya caught that Shizuo had gotten the reference. Maybe something would happen, now. If he lost it, better than nothing. "C'mon." Izaya tossed the spirit in the air and let it hone in on some invisible signal while he followed its lead. Distressed, the spirit flew this way and that, leading them down the halls slowly until they arrived at a door marked, LoveMe.

"Ah, this looks right," said Izaya.

Shizuo sniffed and crossed his arms with disdain, looking almost like a proper English bartender for once. "Who designed this section?"

"I am so glad you asked. It was Lory Takarada himself. I was about to tell you: he's rumored to be obsessed with emotions of love. You didn't read the pamphlet, did you?"

Shizuo was disgusted. "As a matter of fact, I did. I just couldn't believe my eyes."

"Shall we go in?" Izaya knocked. "Hello? I think I have something to return to you?"

"Eh? Just a minute." The orange-haired girl came to the door, without her pink suit this time, and pulled it slightly open.

"I believe I have something of yours." Izaya held out his hand.

The girl's eyes followed the hand to the string it held, up to the blue-spirit, which then dived, frantically reaching to hug her face. There was just an inch of space between them.

"Ah... yes?" she said, smiling and cringing a little, opening the door a little wider.

"I have a bad feeling," said someone from behind the door. Mouko-san. "It's the same feeling that kept me from leaving LoveMe, _wasn't it_, Kyoko_-chan_? What did you say? 'We're all cursed together!,' or something, didn't you! Don't bring anyone else into it!"

"Um, yes, but..." Kyoko took the string, but Izaya didn't release it. "You have something to ask of me...?"

"Is this that Beagle guy you hate so much?" said Moko suspiciously.

"Um. No." Kyoko half turned to look at Moko.

Moko sighed. "How do so many guys get a hold of you this way? Mou! Tsuruga's going to blow a gasket if you get indebted to someone else, again, after that Valentine's chocolate fiasco."

"I'm sorry!" The girl bowed, backing away. "Would you please stay outside for a moment?"

"Sure."

Kyoko backed away and let the heavy metal door slam shut.

When it opened again, both Kyoko and Moko came out, changed out of their LoveMe suits. "Well?" said Moko. She recognized Izaya, but not the blonde man gritting his teeth impatiently behind him.

"This is yours," said Izaya, holding out the blue spirit again to Kyoko, "But we have a favor to ask before we give it back."

_Give _what_ back?_ Moko wondered, looking from Izaya's hand to Kyoko's face. She must have missed the exchange.

In turn, Kyoko looked from Izaya to Shizuo and back again, nervously.

The blonde guy cleared his throat and tried to clarify. "Don't look at _me_. Izaya felt compelled to torture me for the afternoon," said Shizuo, jerking his head at Izaya.

Kyoko wasn't sure if she heard him right, so she said only, "Um! Sure."

"We want to find someone who can give us a rundown of why we failed the audition and lead us to Lory Takarada," Izaya requested.

Kyoko glanced at Moko. "Do you think Sawara-san...?"

"Probably was there. I'm out. Don't do anything stupid, okay, Kyoko?" She said she was going, but Moko stayed taut, reluctant to leave. She felt some concern—they were strong, tall, there were two of them—but Kyoko never seemed to worry about things like that—even when she should.

"Yes. Um. Nice to meet you. I'm Kyoko Mogami." She bowed, very formally. It reminded Izaya of something, but he would have to see it again, maybe several times, before he could place what bothered him.

"Izaya Orihara." Izaya circumspectly released the blue spirit to Kyoko's care and inclined his head casually. That guy... Moko felt a sudden surge of dislike.

"Shizuo Heiwajima." Shizuo bowed back properly. He wanted to make a point, after all, even though his back hurt. At least he could give back her consideration, as good as we got.

"All right. Follow me," said Kyoko. Moko exchanged one final glance with her friend, and they parted ways.


	4. Interlude 2

Interlude #2: Dollars Internet Chat

**Tanaka Tarou: **It's just the two of us now.

* * *

_And Izaya, idly lurking. He isn't really looking at the words, but he might read the chat logs later._

* * *

**Saika: **Tanaka Tarou

**Tanaka Tarou: **and Saika.

**Saika: ***Aaaahhhh...*

**Tanaka Tarou: **It's a big relief, isn't it?

**Saika: **Yes ... the boards were a little busy today. Just a little

**Tanaka Tarou: **So, um, how are you?

**Saika: **Doing well. And you?

**Tanaka Tarou: **Fine. This website is all I do, besides school, so...

**Saika: **Did Masaomi tell you everything that happened between him and Izaya Orihara? And why he hunted the Dollars?

**Tanaka Tarou: **Uh-huh. Finally. I think I get it, where Masaomi's coming from. I mean, I always knew Izaya was dangerous.

* * *

_Izaya caught his own name and re-read what they said. So Masaomi had ratted on him. Bound to happen eventually. Izaya rolled his eyes. Dangerous. Yes, and..._

* * *

**Saika: **_Un_. Yeah.

**Tanaka Tarou:** I don't think I can just freeze him off, though. He's useful.

**Saika:** Maybe.

**Tanaka Tarou:** Masaomi told me that when I came, but you know it when you see him. And you can't help but be fascinated. He tells you things about yourself, even if you don't really want to know

* * *

_Okay, this was interesting._

* * *

**Saika: **Go on.

**Tanaka Tarou: **Of course, it could have all been a mistake, but I'd rather not underestimate Izaya ... *laughs nervously*

—I think he tried to break me like that too.

**Saika: **This summer? The Dollars, Masaomi and I, and you?

**Tanaka Tarou: **Yes. Well, maybe Masaomi as a side game — I don't think Izaya cares much about kicking people while they're down — but he was going out of his way to mentor me, after a fashion.

* * *

___Masaomi wasn't "down." He wasn't ready, and he should have been. It's not my fault he couldn't think ahead as a leader. I hardly did anything that wouldn't have happened naturally, on his side of things. But yes, that was a bonus to my plans._

_Oh, Mikado. Going "out of my way"? "After a fashion"? Do you have any idea how much energy I put into that? How much crude stalking and technology hacking I had to do to be at the right place at the right time?_

_Well, perhaps it's a testament to my skills that I make it look easy. Dammit._

* * *

**Saika: **Just a little scary

**Tanaka Tarou: **Yes, a bit.

—But the fact that he would go out of his way to do it makes me think that he respects me, which is scary in its own way

**Saika: **Yes. Sometimes, it's better to be a passerby

* * *

_Never._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **... but it's not very exciting

* * *

_There's my boy. Atta-go, girl._

* * *

**Saika: **I don't think I want to be in the middle of exciting things!

**Tanaka Tarou: **But that's what I like about you, Anri-chan. You never draw attention to yourself, but you're still important — my stealthy but flawless friend.

—Although I wish you'd tell me a bit more about yourself, sometimes.

**Saika: ***blushes* There's not much to tell.

* * *

_Oh no, it's a mutual compliment fest._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Isn't that — being invisible, and still being a part of exciting things — what a Dollar is? Except I still get noticed

**Saika: **Hard to do _that_ with such an ordinary name like Tanaka Tarou

—(But even I got noticed, as Saika. You know, that time when everyone helped me...)

**Tanaka Tarou: **I suppose one ever _would _think someone with a pretentious name like Ryuugamine Mikado could be Tanaka Tarou

—(We were both so surprised at the helping turnout, that time — but my point is, you managed to hide, the enemy never engaged you, and no one attached a reputation to your name, so the matter was left at that)

**Saika: **Quite unlikely

**Tanaka Tarou:** So I still stick out like a sore thumb.

**Saika: **But that's what I like about you, Mikado-kun. You appear so normal, although inside, I know you're not. Oh, that didn't sound right

—!

—What I mean to say is, you've got hidden talent.

**Tanaka Tarou: **... Thanks.

—Well, I'm glad no one popped in while we had this conversation.

* * *

_Izaya snickers._

* * *

—Take care of yourself. Good night...Sleep well. _Oyasuminasai_, Anri-chan.

**Saika: **_Oyasumi._

* * *

_Good night, my dear chess piece pawns... Wait, didn't I make Anri-chan a queen once? I think Mikado was a ... bishop, wasn't it? But that was before my game board burned up._

_Izaya yawns and stretches, carefully contorting his sore wrists._

_Namie: _You_ burned it up._

_Izaya: Don't contradict me, menial attendant._

_Whatever, Namie mutters, and __scores a point off Izaya with a pillow to the face. He grumbles but takes the hint and goes to bed. Namie looks at the monitor thoughtfully and flicks it off. __What's he doing, eavesdropping on a pair of lovers? Even she can't imagine what he's getting out of this— No, actually. He was probably bored and thought it was fun._

_Then again, it's not a very good explanation because that seems to be the basic reason for _everything_ he does._


	5. Chapter 2

_Characters: Kyoko Mogami, __Section Head _Takenori Sawara, Izaya Orihara, Shizuo Heiwajima, President Lory Takarada

Chapter Two: In Which Shizuo Gets a Job He Didn't Really Want

Kyoko wasn't about to lead the guys to the President right away just because they asked her. If they wanted the truth, they'd go the long way around, just like she did.

So she called her advisor Sawara-san, explaining that she owed a favor to them, and they had tea in the café. Just when they got there, Kyoko had a horrible thought and rushed to whisper to Sawara-san while the boys were still out of earshot, "Maria-chan is..."

"Not here. She never watches the men's auditions," Sawara said quietly, and rubbed his forehead, remembering Maria's intrusion on Kyoko's first interview. Hmm. Why not the men's auditions, when her favorite actor was Tsuruga-san? Oh well. He shrugged.

"Oh, that's good, then..." said Kyoko, subdued, and motioned the men over. "Sawara-san, these men are Izaya Orihara and Shizuo Heiwajima."

"_Hajimemashite_," they said, and bowed properly.

"And this is Takenori Sawara, my manager."

Izaya smiled, knowing that this was just one last step until he could meet the president himself. Shizuo was less patient. His eyebrow twitched. Izaya got to the point. "We were wondering if we could ask you why we failed the tests."

"I should think that would be obvious. Having a fight as your main talent introduction, and then...the President is a sucker for exceptional sappy stories. That's why the phone test is designed that way." Sawara sighed. "Several talented people have been failing it recently. But we feel it was a bit of a waste to let them go because of their sad pasts..."

Hearing herself being spoken of that way, Kyoko's eyes burned and she turned her face sharply to the side, away from view.

Izaya tilted his head. "That style of acting is not what we do best, it's true. However... I decided to apply since I heard of a new section for some of the more talented failures..."

Kyoko turned to ice. The blue spirit converted to a pink fairy and clung to Kyoko, affectionately, trying to cheer her up. She'd known this outcome was an option, but — this was backfiring in a big way...

"Hm, really?" Sawara rubbed his chin. "Yes. Although I should hardly think the section is suited to males. It is called the LoveMe section, after all. You know the uniform is pink, don't you." He was rather surprised, but not precisely pleased. No one had ever _volunteered_ to join LoveMe before, despite their best advertising. That wasn't surprising. The only people actually in the section had been summarily sentenced there. He had been about to talk to Lory about that, in fact—changing the section's image to appeal to boys—this would definitely ruin that plan. With this success, Lory would not be convinced to change the colors for at least another year. Still, it couldn't be helped.

Snapping out of her self-pity, Kyoko thought forcefully, _as if that color isn't just as offensive to the women in the section as well!_ She snorted. Her irritation was lost on Sawara, however, who was now thinking ruefully that perhaps a few more members wouldn't be a bad idea after all, although _these_ new members were hardly ideal.

"We shall do everything in our power to make it into showbiz," said Izaya, smiling widely. Shizuo looked at him alongside, but said nothing.

Sawara considered. "If you don't mind, then...we shall consider it." He launched into his speech. "Here's what you must always remember: If jobs don't come your way, go out and get them! You cannot be passive when your job is to be loved by people! As a LoveMe member, you must anticipate what other people want and do those things with love so that they're impressed with you and ... will ... love you." That over, Sawara breathed a sigh. It was almost word-for-word what the president would say about the section itself, and yet it never sounded as impressive as when Lory did it himself.

Shizuo felt slightly sick.

Sawara rummaged in his work satchel and withdrew the LoveMe pad and stamps. "These are what enforce the system. If you do a good job, to the best of your ability, then you can get positive stamps. Get enough of these, and you will earn yourself a new job in showbiz. Mind you, there are negative stamps, too. Kyoko-san, how many jobs have you had?"

"I've lost count," she said sullenly, then shook her head and pulled herself together. "No. Actually, five or six. There was Bo, the angel, Mio, and Natsu, and other odd jobs." She frowned. "Ah, do you think Kuon counts...?"

"And you aren't a full star yet?" asked Shizuo suddenly.

To her own consternation, Kyoko blushed furiously. She gritted her teeth and bore it, not replying.

Shizuo dropped his eyes, slightly abashed. _I should have known better than to say that, with my brother Kasuka... or should I call him Yuuhei?... being in the business. Not that Kasuka cared about my questions—well, he doesn't care much about anything tangible—and never answered anyway..._ He apologized.

Sawara was unruffled. "Kyoko has had little time to become a full star yet. She dropped in middle school, but now she's taking high school night classes. We are very proud of her. We wish her to continue building her career slowly."

Kyoko sniffed and smiled, as the praise melted away her earlier gloom and she forgot her embarrassment. "Do you really think so? Sawara-san! I'm so glad!" she said, clasping her hands together.

"Don't get a big head, Kyoko," Sawara said, slightly alarmed by the sudden mood swing. Kyoko immediately subsided, however, when she remembered the boys in the room. Izaya's eyes swiveled to reassess her, and came away slightly perplexed.

"So then. Shall we ask the president?" Izaya said smoothly. "Since it has not been decided whether boys can enter the section?"

"Yes. Quite so. Lory won't mind, right now." _Unless he's playing with his pet snake Natsuko again, but he _should_ be doing his work, at that. Sigh. _Sawara stood. "Kyoko, I believe you can go on home now. I'll see you in the morning tomorrow."

Kyoko sprang to attention, with an abrupt sense of relief. "Yes, sir. Thank you. Good night." She bowed and left. She truly hoped they wouldn't get this job. Although light as a feather, the fairy still clutched her sleeve with quaking intensity. Her thoughts were beginning to churn, and they weren't particularly coherent, but they did tell her one thing: trouble.

A moment later, Izaya left as well. He wasn't particularly interested in seeing Lory, and Shizuo would be offended if Izaya didn't think that Shizuo could fend for himself without his help, thank you very much. Not that Shizuo was the very model of an adult, but he could be civil and handle people interactions at the least.

Izaya was 95% sure that Shizuo wouldn't let himself get out of hand with the President, but he wouldn't want to be around if that happened, either. Actually, he had to consider the fact that his presence probably exacerbated Shizuo's problems with his temper, and that without him, Shizuo had a better chance of holding himself together. Izaya gave Shizuo and Sawara-san his number, and told them to call him if Lory agreed to let boys join LoveMe. Then Izaya went back to his apartment with Namie, and steeled himself for another microwave-reheated dish of revenge, which was somehow worse than last week's leftovers served cold.

Shizuo went to see the President. As Sawara had predicted, Shizuo didn't have to wait long: Lory Takarada was seated by his heated Olympic pool in a casual summer _yukata_, playing with his pet Natsuko the boa constrictor.

"Ah, this young man," said Lory Takarada. Shizuo blinked from the shock and awe. "Yes, I have high hopes for you. Sawara-san?"

"Yes, there is potential," Sawara agreed. _With reservati__ons. I never know what exactly you, Takarada-sama, are thinking, and although those auditions were daring and spectacular, even you couldn't have missed that these two are a huge risk._

"Then you want entrance into the LoveMe section," Lory practically sang.

"Excuse me, Lory, but the move is unprecedented..."

"Yes. Indeed, it seemed to me that these young men lacked that which is most essential to their growth as actors: the desire to love and be loved by their audience! And yet they are desperate to join the LoveMe section, you say?"

"Yes. Thus, I have brought Heiwajima-san to you to discuss. His partner, Orihara Izaya, has returned home already," Sawara-san summarized.

"Oh? Heiwajima-san, are you related perhaps to Kasuka Heiwajima-kun?"

Shizuo didn't blink when Lory 'forgot' the stage name. "Yes. Kasuka is my brother." _Younger brother._ But that would probably give Lory pause.

"Wonderful! A brother-duo in the company!" Lory clapped his hands and Shizuo grimaced. "We expect ever greater things from Yuuhei. So, Sawara-san, I hereby grant permission to boys joining the LoveMe section. Is there anything else that you require, Sawara-san?"

_A complete image do-over?_ No, later... it wouldn't make sense after this bizarre success. Sawara said, "No. I think Heiwajima-san had some questions, however."

"Of course." Sawara left, and Lory got up from his lawn chair, carefully disentangled himself from his pet snake Natsuko, and turned to Shizuo. "What do you wish to ask, young man?"

Shizuo removed his shades. "I actually didn't come here to join. My ... partner ... Izaya did." Shizuo leaned forward and growled, "I don't believe in your philosophy. I don't agree."

"Believe in what?" Lory grinned happily.

"Love! Love! What kind of love? What possible motive could move someone to _love_ people one knows nothing about?"

"Yes, indeed!" said Lory, beaming. "It's a human need!"

"Human...need?" Shizuo murmured, feeling for a toothpick, then stopped in his tracks and shook his head very hard. "It's the height of folly! A lot of fakery, to _pretend_ to love a lot of people!"

"Nonsense." Lory laughed. "If you trust your fellow human beings so little that they can't tell real virtue from fake, then you have quite a lot to learn, young man."

"You'd be surprised," said Shizuo, smoldering darkly, remembering some arcane and sordid incidents during his years as a loan collector.

Lory took that into due consideration. "Of course there are cases of human foolishness. That is humanity! However, people are usually wise to the real thing."

"I think that's just because they're too trusting in general," Shizuo objected. "If you believe some fake with the real all the time, can you really differentiate just because you _always_ believe in the real? Also, I know some people who wouldn't tell true love if it bit them on the nose. That argument doesn't work."_  
_

"I will bet that the people you knew were fooled by _romantic_ love. _Ren'ai_, _k__oi_, or even _tsuki_, for example. When one thinks about them, these words for love are rather self-centered, aren't they? People fool themselves all the time. In the words of a famous US president, I forget which..." (Lory flapped his hands lazily) " 'Ask not what your country can do for you. Instead, ask what you can do for your country.' "

Shizuo narrowed his eyes. He remembered that saying.

"An understandable mistake; romantic love is often confused with lust. Romantic love has its place, but in the context of the LoveMe section, it is the wrong focus." Lory waved Shizuo to a seat, and sat down himself. "I mean real love, of course."

Shizuo sat, and crossed his arms. "Explain yourself. And don't you think that saying romantic love isn't real is just a bit _arrogant_?"

"Of course you're right. I misspoke. Rather strange for me — romantic's my favorite kind to watch being acted..." Lory shrugged.

Shizuo rolled his eyes. "Which just means that you still think it's fake. Continue."

"You misunderstand me again. I didn't mean what I said," Lory said it smoothly, but inside he was a trifle frustrated. Passion did not always make him rational; he had to remember that.

"_Fine_."

"What I have been trying to say, and have been tripping you up with the way I have been saying it, is that the philosophy of the LoveMe section is not romantic. Will you let me explain?"

Shizuo was somewhat mollified, and he managed a nod.

Lory breathed a sigh of relief. He had been about to lose him. Shizuo didn't swallow bait easily, he could see that.

"In the days of the Greeks, there were several words for love. _Agape_, or sacrificial love, is the one we are talking about here. It does not discriminate by how deserving of love the receiver is. It hopes, yes, but never demands a reward for its efforts. There are no concerns with position, status, family or rank; it can exist between any two people. There is no exact equivalent of the concept in our language, which is a real oversight made by our forefathers, I think." Lory leaned back and steepled his fingers, for once appearing serious.

"Isn't romantic love unconditional?" Shizuo asked cautiously.

_Still hooked on that? _"Normal people usually lose interest when the other party doesn't love them back," said Lory, with a rare showing of common sense, but no trace of scorn. "That's true love, and I have yet to meet anyone in my life with that kind of all-inclusive love. It's too perfect. Although such a beautiful concept..." Lory lost focus.

Shizuo coughed, and Lory saw that he was still confused. Lory made another attempt. Maybe the experiential side of the equation would work. "Perhaps an example. Haven't you ever wanted to do something to your utmost before?"

"Of course," said Shizuo gruffly.

"So you have. Who was it for?"

Shizuo reddened as his thoughts immediately thrust him into the memory of the milk-woman from the corner store, the one who had inspired, no, exhorted him with nary a word to not only get stronger, but to learn to control himself. It was all because of his own damned mistake. His eyes grew moist. He hadn't thought about her for a while, not since his last "irritable" day in Ikebukuro.

It wasn't really a memory of pleasure; he remembered how hopeful and determined he had been; but the shame at his failure overlaid everything. At that age, Shizuo never knew where to put his strength, but he always longed to use it to do something really _good_. So when he saw some suspicious guys roughing up the milk-woman, she who had been unswervingly kind to him, he had hit them with everything he had. Even at the age of seven, that was a lot. The bad guys were knocked out — but so was the crushed milk-woman, and her store which she had worked so hard to save had been completely trashed. He'd made everything worse. Of course, now he knew that he'd been too idealistic for his abilities at the time. Like the most tragic of superheroes, he in his hubris had attempted to save another, and had destroyed them instead.

There was this — _point_ between eyes. It kept getting tighter and tighter. If he thought too much, he was going to shed tears, and if he wept, he would snap. Everything that he worked so hard for would be ruined..._ Get control of yourself, Shizuo. Stop that. It's all in the past anyway._ He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why did you try so hard for that person? Yes, you loved them—but deep down, you really wanted them to love you _back_; and so you worked as hard as you possibly could." Lory looked at Shizuo, who was locked in a rictus of grief. "Maybe too hard," he said quietly.

Shizuo glanced aside and Lory waited until his jaw had stopped working, and his face had stopped contorting.

Lory began again. "It sounds selfish, wanting that, but you would do something even if they never _had_ noticed. However, your joy and pride in the work would have more than doubled if they did. This emotion is all the proof you need to know that the state of being loved is both a need and want. It can't be helped." Lory leaned forward slightly. Shizuo did not dare to make a sound.

"It is my belief that forgetting that essential need could ruin any person. It _will_ ruin an actor, because the relationship between actor and audience is symbiotic, but anyone will admit that the success of the relationship depends more on the actor's efforts," Lory said, as quietly as he knew how. He waited for a moment before he continued, evenly and lightly, "That is the realization you lack, and that is why the section is called LoveMe." Lory chuckled. "I believe even Kyoko hasn't heard such an exact explanation for the name of the section, so you may consider yourself lucky."

Shizuo's mouth hung open with surprise before he came to himself and shut it with a sharp snap. This — this profound stupidity, it threw around the word "love" as if it were candy and yet —

Shizuo gulped hard, though it was too late to keep this peculiar twisting mixture of abject misery and _hope_ from showing on his face. His hands were shaking. Yes, he knew this feeling. It came from deep within, raw with longing. This was what he had been wanting to do, and never known how to, without hurting... He wanted to correct it, to make it right. It had such energy. Too much energy, in his hands—

Lory said softly, "I can offer you only one condolence. This kind of love is never mistaken. The false is _sometimes_ taken for true, but the truth behind the real thing is never taken for false. Of course, that is only if the reasoning behind one's actions are understood... communication is important."

_"_I— I see," said Shizuo at last, still shaking. Every muscle seemed to be quivering. In sympathy, Lory laid a hand on Shizuo's shoulder. Without thinking, Shizuo snapped his arm back, elbowed the President, and whacked him into the Olympic swimming pool. The President made a tremendous splash.

Shizuo threw himself to his knees and touched his head to the ground (though it was wet) and broke out in silent sobbing, shoulders shaking. He heard the splish-splash of water, and then a wet hand patted his shoulder and a river of water flowed from the soaked President, and drenched Shizuo's butler jacket. For a moment, he couldn't understand it; — the President was laughing.

"Yes, yes, well, if you had very much of that love to begin with, you wouldn't be in the LoveMe section at all, would you," said Lory, half-consolingly, and casually re-adjusted his sopping _yukata_ like it was no big deal. Shizuo leaked great fat tears and broke out in bawling, all the harder, like a child. Lory laughed again, and kept laughing, a hiccupy hysterical laugh — he couldn't even do that properly, because his sympathy kept getting in the way — because he couldn't quite believe what he saw and yet was delighted and it was _hysterical._ This poor, poor man. Seeing one's worst fears almost nearly come true and escaping with an almost comical result — Lory thought in his place _he_ would have dissolved in tears himself...

Gasping, Lory managed to say, "You're not alone. And really, you didn't do that badly." He took a deep breath and calmed down — poor Shizuo probably didn't know what to make out of Lory's hilarity — and he did his best to sound unconcerned but soothing. "In one interpretation of your cell-phone drama, you thought you were giving the girl a little tough love, or perhaps a way out — what you lacked was that it was clear that you had no love for her to begin with. Izaya's performance was much more concerning. Reminiscent of Kyoko's disastrous audition," he said, remembering it fondly. "Positively hateful, wanting to be feared as such, and with none of her vulnerability..." Lory could talk about plot, characters, and the movie business for days on end, if one let him...

Shizuo gradually pulled himself together and tuned out Lory's rambling. He sat up and wiped the last streaming tears from his face, trying not to dwell on the loss of his composure, and thought.

Shizuo thought about Tom, his boss, whom he had served with loyalty for — a couple of years now, wasn't it? He thought about Celty, for whom he did favors, and listened to her problems and, at her prompting, shared his own. He thought about Kadota and Togusa's van full of deceptively cheerful ex-Blue Square gang members. He thought about Simon, who always had his back and probably understood his struggles best, although he was equally sure that Simon approached life with a wisdom that Shizuo could never hope to achieve. He even thought about that trio of the Raira high-school kids — Mikado, Masaomi, and Anri, for whom he felt a strange fondness and an urge to protect... He hoped they wouldn't make the same mistakes his peers had. Never mind; he was resolved. He _wanted_ to do his best for them, and he would show the world.

He knelt, lifted himself to his feet, and stood. "I'll do it!"

"Good man!" Lory laughed and clapped him on the back, mentally thinking with bemusement, _Arise, my good and faithful servant. I hereby dub thee, my good Sir Strong-in-the-Arm._ Shizuo's butler vest now had three large wet handprints on it. "Let's get you hired!"

_A half-second — Wait... Wait just a minute... I mean..._ He wavered.

Shizuo had meant to say that he believed Lory, that he understood and wanted to take his teachings to heart. That he would never forget, and he had things that he had to make right. But he'd forgotten something else...

"I don't want the job," said Shizuo, wilting abruptly and greying slightly. He couldn't just quit on Tom like this. He wasn't good with people. He didn't understand what he would be doing. He'd never taken an acting class in his life. And what if he cracked on the job, like he had with the President just now? "I have — I have obligations!" He insisted desperately, running his hand through his slick yellowy hair.

At this point, that was simply ridiculous. Lory laughed good-naturedly. "Of course you do, Heiwajima-san. You see, someone has to pay for that vending machine you threw onto the stage..." Lory clicked his tongue. "And your brother has a reputation to uphold, too, you know."

Shizuo turned absolutely sheet-white and clutched his head. _Yuuhei—! _Kuso_, I don't know how much those things cost! I've never had to think about it! I've never been identified as the vandal before...! Not even for the street signs! Oh, and just when Celty warned me to stay away from the police._ _Shit_. And Izaya had actually _warned_ him about this. _That bastard. I am going to get him—!_ But Shizuo had lost the primal heat of his fury, and he knew it. He didn't have the heart, and he was too frightened of what could come next.

"The job is worth a nice sum of yen, Heiwajima-san. Just for one month, Heiwajima-san; I think you can cover it. Just one month." Lory winked. Shizuo had to admit he was a good sweet-talker. "On the other hand, the pay is good, and the insurance is great. I guarantee you won't want to leave... And I don't want to let you go."

Shizuo couldn't bear it anymore. At the moment, from this man, to hear him use his last name (Heiwajima meant "Peaceful Island") was like he was being taunted for all that he was not. "Please, just call me Shizuo." He shuddered in horror and signed all the paperwork Lory pushed at him. Lory was so pleased, he hummed and dithered and drove Shizuo batty, but Shizuo no longer had a sneaking suspicion that Lory was not the pushover he looked at first sight. The man was positively cunning for all his romanticism.

Kyoko could have told him about that._  
_


	6. Interlude 3

Interlude #3: Dollars Internet Chat

* * *

_Shizuo has never used the Dollars membership to join the chat before. He wonders what it will be like, or if he will have anything to say. Could his nickname be more obvious? Adrenaline...who would guess that..._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou:** Typhoons happen in the summer, right?

**Saika: **From June to November.

**Tanaka Tarou: **_Bakyura_...

**Bakyura: **Yeah, _nothing_ happens in Ikebukuro during the winter.

—You have a point there.

**Saika: **Is this "sarcasm"?

**Bakyura: **It might be?

**Saika: **Huh?

**Adorenarin: **Look, Ike's never normal.

**Tanaka Tarou: **As in, you mean,

—"I Like Ike?"

* * *

_It followed that if Saika (Anri) was here, then the other two on the chat were probably Masaomi and Mikado..._

_How did Mikado manage to misunderstand me? Oh well._

* * *

**Adorenarin: **No, I meant Ike short for Ikebukuro. Where did _that_ misunderstanding come from?

**Tanaka Tarou: **I don't know, I saw it on a sign somewhere...?

**Bakyura: **Where in the world did you come from? China?

—_Massaka,_ can't be

—China tried to shut off Google too many times.

**Tanaka Tarou: ***Groans* That's not funny, Bakyura. I haven't watched the news on the issue myself, but you've got to have misunderstood something...

* * *

_These kids. That's Masaomi, he's even more impertinent online than in person._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Actually, what does "I Like Ike" even refer to?

**Adorenarin: **An American president.

—Dwight Eisenhower, but they called him Ike.

**Saika: **...

**Bakyura: **The bomb-dropper?

—I NEVER KNEW!

**Tanaka Tarou: ***headdesk* O/=|_

**Adorenarin: **No, he was the president after Truman

—Ike is the one who _ordered_ the bombs as deterrents, while he was still a general. The presidents though — Rosie built 'em, Truman sent 'em, our man Ike mopped it up.

* * *

_Shizuo had once thought up that ditty to help him remember while studying US History via the History channel while he had been in the States. It played in his head at odd times. Which was weird, he usually didn't dwell on WWII subjects much, although it was quite relevant to Japan's more recent history._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **What you learn in America...

**Adorenarin: **Doesn't stay in America. Or it shouldn't, anyway.

**Saika: **An American saying?

**Adorenarin: **After a fashion. "What you do in Vegas, stays in Vegas," but it means something a bit more sinister.

—I had an internship in America once, you know. Courtesy of my brother's connections and an English test.

**Saika: **How was it?

**Adorenarin: **Boring. No, not really.

**Saika: **Uh-huh

**Adorenarin: **I'm not sure how to describe it...it was very different.

* * *

_And nice. It was an interesting experience to awe people with my intellect rather than my strength..._

* * *

**Saika: **Where's Vegas?

**Bakyura: **Go use Google, Chiney.

**Adorenarin: ** Nevada, United States.

**Tanaka Tarou: **Please, Bakyura, no slurs on the chats or message boards...

—I mean, I know you don't know anything really about the issue and you just want to be funny, but _just stop,_ all right?

—Speaking of which, to be perfectly fair, I should have reprimanded you for threatening Kanra last week *sweatdrop* I have to get more serious about this!

* * *

_Shizuo felt a bit sorry for the kid. Mikado was a naturally precocious as a leader, but he was curiously quite timid around his friends and yet completely loyal. It was tough, but you had to learn how to negotiate society sometime._

* * *

**Bakyura: **Sorry, Tanaka. Forgot the manager was here ;-)

**Saika: **It's alright. You're still new, aren't you?

**Adorenarin: **And you'll still be new if you keep breaking rules, newbie! *shows teeth*

* * *

_At least here he could back up Mikado._

_Shizuo always found it easy to show his teeth to Masaomi. Perhaps it was because Masaomi never showed fear. He took threats in stride, adjusted his behavior slightly, and carried right on, testing the envelope. Shizuo had been rather amused and honored when he learned that Masaomi had warned Mikado so very strongly against pissing Shizuo off at the beginning of his stay in Ikebukuro. The level of serious respect had surprised him._

* * *

**Bakyura: **_Gomennasai, gomennasai!_

**Tanaka Tarou: **Thanks, Adorenarin.

* * *

___"Thanks." No problem, thought Shizuo, amused again. The signs of a leader. He noticed._

___Mikado always sounded so sweet, humble, and grateful. He didn't need to be. Mikado's lack of self-consciousness in that regard was charming. He actually recognized it when people helped him, and never failed to communicate that he had received a gift when others might think the matter was too simple or small and forget. The funny thing was, it reminded others of the good in themselves (they forgot, too), and instinctively they trusted Mikado._

___Because people trusted Mikado, Mikado rarely distrusted anyone else. People usually tried to reciprocate what they got, but there had to have been rotten apples, too. Sometimes Shizuo wondered whether Mikado could keep on like that, or if he had already met his match, and yet managed to salvage the persona... The act wouldn't necessarily be fake, but perhaps young Mikado had a different inner face. That would certainly explain what drew Izaya to him. Izaya was drawn to darkness and cynicism, not light and innocence, but Mikado had always appeared a figure of light — their apparent mutual (albeit cautious) respect had always baffled Shizuo. Usually Izaya would have mocked that level of naivety, not actively seek out to mentor it. Mind you, Izaya always had a tendency to play with his food..._

___Tracing back the steps of his thoughts, Shizuo realized that Mikado's style of leadership sounded a lot like Lory Takarada's LoveMe ideals._

___Shizuo missed a half-page of comments while thinking._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou (cont.): **I hope we all learned something today? (:-/) Didn't we?


	7. Chapter 3

_Characters: Shizuo Heiwajima, President Lory Takarada, Sho Fuwa, Kyoko Mogami, Tsuruga Ren, Moko, Izaya Orihara, Yukihito Yashiro_

Chapter Three: In Which Shizuo is Packed Off and Kyoko Sews Another Version of Orihara Izaya

Luckily for Shizuo, it wasn't an acting job that the President wanted him for. It was a stunt double. And, well, in this case — spy.

"I've been having trouble with a certain actor, er, musician, Sho Fuwa," said President Lory Takarada.

Shizuo shrugged. Sure, Sho was popular, so Shizuo knew him. Didn't like him. The man always had the air of an unassailable, smug jerk on TV. But — wasn't he in a competing agency?

"I think you have the legs, the build and approximately the right face. You have the blonde hair already. So, in a pinch, you could pass for him. You also have the survivor skills, and the strength. You'll be his stunt double. At the level you will be doing it, you won't need training, yet." Lory paused. Shizuo's brain lurched into motion; "yet". Lory was going to send him into training later? "It's choreography, you see; the stunt coordinator should fill you in on how to do that, and I trust your natural talents will fill in. You were street-fighting with your friend Orihara, weren't you, in the audition?" Shizuo almost objected to the word "friend," but nodded. Lory pursed his lips, but continued. "LME gets a bonus, a little extra payment, when we rent out our people to our rivals." Lory inspected his nails. "The only troubling thing is that you are a bit tall, and perhaps a _mite_ too strong, but that's what people are least likely to notice."

So that made sense. A good job for him, thought Shizuo. Except, how much would he have to fake his strength?

"You can do it, Shizuo-kun. In addition, I would like you to investigate Sho Fuwa and discover what kind of relationship Kyoko has with him."

Shizuo cocked his head. That orange-haired girl in the LoveMe section...? Kyoko, wasn't it?

"Two of my top actors are involved with him and I want to know why, and what it means. There's something suspicious. Of course I am not supposed to know about it and there is no opportune moment to ask them — not that they'd tell me the truth, I'm sure." Lory rolled his eyes. "Everyone has secrets, but some are more dangerous than others."

Shizuo raised his head. "Isn't this spying?"

"Problem?" asked Lory brightly, tapping the contract.

"'All people are equal, but some are more equal than others,'" Shizuo quoted stolidly from _Animal Farm_.

Lory shrugged. "It's not like I'm going to _do_ anything with the information. What I really need it for is to evaluate where they are coming from, and address their problems appropriately. Or simply to confront them about it."

"If that's all..." said Shizuo, and put on his blue shades.

Lory nodded.

"Fine." Shizuo put on fingered his shades and glared over the top.

Lory lifted his hands beneficently. "What else?"

"You realize that I know nothing of the two actors you're talking about."

"I'll give you a précis of all the _facts_ which I know about them." Lory drew a manila envelope from his suit, pretending to be sneaky. "Memorize it on the way."

"Yeah, right. I'll keep it. So I'm an agent," said Shizuo, unimpressed. "Do I need to stay _undercover_?"

Lory's smile was extra boyish. "Quite. Here it is. Start studying. You'll get a chance to actually get to know them later; I know you'll like them."

Shizuo rolled his eyes and uncrossed his long legs. "Yes, sir. And, I'll be the judge of that." He stood, accepted the packet, and stalked away.

Halfway across Japan on a plane to wherever the hell the set was, Shizuo realized that the packet was not helpful _at all_. He'd always been a slow reader, but he should have realized sooner. That evil, evil man...

Kyoko had no specific past, and Tsuruga Ren had no connections to the name "Fuwa." That is, when Tsuruga's file said anything; a lot of it had been censored by request of the actor. His entire childhood had been blocked out, for example, and his parentage was missing. His name itself was a stage name, but his "real" name wasn't listed. It was curious, but didn't matter; it just made it hard to judge whether it was true that his only connection to Sho Fuwa was through Kyoko. Speaking of which, what was the relationship between _them_?

So, Kyoko's past: Father? None. Mother? Yes... but no location, no address. She didn't even have a signed permission slip, although Kyoko was only seventeen. (Lory wrote that he had waived the requirement after a short interview with her on the subject.) Guardians? None. Emergency contacts? Most recently, two contacts in Tokyo, owners of the shop where Kyoko rented a room. These were the signatures that Lory obtained to allow Kyoko to work for LME. Also, there were two more contacts in Kyoto, at Sho's parents' _ryokan_.

Okay, so they were childhood friends, or Kyoko had worked for them, or something. Yet, why would she hate Sho, but keep his parents' information? Nothing he had seen explained the bad blood between them. Sure, fights happened between friends, but one would think they would have been resolved or kept within private circles. There weren't even any confused rumors, except those that said Kyoko had joined LME because she 'idolized' Sho Fuwa and wanted to get closer to Ren Tsuruga. Completely backwards. The notion was laughable. There was Lory's sticky note which said that Sawara-san believed the rumors, much to the President's chagrin and Kyoko's innocent bewilderment. He ended the note with a smiley-face, which Shizuo took to mean that he was too amused by the misunderstanding to fix it.

Working history. Ah. Kyoko had worked with Sho Fuwa in public during the filming of a short wordless promo clip. There were no significant incidents on her record. Not what he expected. There must have been problems—there were cryptic mentions of "altercations" between Kyoko and Fuwa, and yet paradoxically, she also "successfully defused potential problems between Fuwa and his costar"; was this where Lory got concerned? Kyoko's last file was her initial audition application, where it stated that her goal was to "beat Sho Fuwa," her favorite word was "revenge," and her picture was frowning at the camera. The last piece of paperwork showed that she had dropped out after middle school, only to join the working students' night school a year or two later.

The file contained more than enough hints. But, at best, it was circumstantial evidence, and Shizuo didn't have Sho's files to compare it to. Shizuo didn't know how much uncertainty Lory could accept which he didn't know already. Distantly, he wondered if Takarada was giving him a task to waste his time.

Rapping the plane chair's handles impatiently, Shizuo inwardly railed against lazy, millionaire CEOs with nothing better to do. Too bad he didn't have a toothpick — he'd forgotten to pack them — and cigarettes were contraband, of course. If he could just get off the blipping plane already.

* * *

Sho Fuwa hadn't been informed about the stunt double. He was... brusque, to put it mildly. Obnoxious. He had an edge that said that he didn't give a damn about anyone but himself, but when he cared, his sweet talk would smooth things over until he got what he wanted. He didn't even bother with that often. His manager made motions to soothe Shizuo's feelings, and made the meeting follow smoothly, but Sho stared broodingly and said little, except to make an occasional biting comment.

It was enough to make Shizuo bristle, but he controlled himself because he knew that this guy knew nothing about fighting. The man was all bluff, no strength or skill; if Shizuo so much as 'played' with him, this guy would die — or at least ruin his pretty face. So Shizuo kept his temper. If his last name was Heiwajima, he ought to be able to live up to it, sometimes.

Fuwa treated everyone like a servant. Shizuo wondered how Kyoko had put up with that; she seemed like an intelligent girl, even if a little daft. Maybe that had something to do with their relationship now...

After his role in the scene had been explained, and they had been waiting for thirty minutes, Shizuo decided it was time to start up a conversation. Sho was probably sweltering in his heavy black synthetic costume just like Shizuo. They were just two bad-tempered guys in sweltering Okinawa heat. That was enough to have in common. Sho would talk.

"Hey — Fuwa-sempai." Shizuo waved to Sho.

Sho grunted.

Shizuo took out a lighter and idly flicked it open, flicked it shut. "So, what's it like, being an actor, huh?" Sho gave him a half-disbelieving, quizzical look like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Shizuo pretended to take no notice. "Isn't that the first question one has when they enter the movie business?" he continued.

Sho narrowed his eyes.

"You see... I know a bit of the movie business. You know my brother Yuuhei? His real name is Kasuka."

"Can't say I have."

"Yeah. Maybe not. He's as quiet as the grave outside of when he's acting." Shizuo shrugged. "Anyway. I always wondered what his life was like. He never would—well, maybe never _could_—tell me about it. That's why I followed him into showbiz. I couldn't keep a steady job, you know. So I thought, oh, what the hell, why don't I try that too? Maybe I have talent. But I don't know that much of what the daily grind is like. Thought maybe you could give me an idea." The best lies were the ones closest to the truth, and this was _much_ easier to explain than the truth.

Sho scraped the floor with his boot. "Maybe. I can't speak for him, or for stunt men like you, of course. My career is a little different," he said, with some smugness.

Shizuo couldn't help bristling at that, but he soon quashed his irritation. "Yeah. You're a musician, right?"

"Mostly, yes. But, because every time I write a new song I have to make a video that goes with it, there is an element of acting." Sho flexed his hands in their faux-leather gloves and gave a sly smile.

"Sure. Do you work with other actors a lot?" Shizuo leaned back casually, hands in his pockets.

Sho's face blanked, then hooded. "Sure. Of course. Once or twice."

"Oh? That's not usual?"

Sho shook his head. "This is only the twelfth video I've made, and the third I've done with costars not from my own band."

So that's why he had so few people skills.

"You seem tense. Did something happen?"

His face positively grayed. "Yes, on my sixth video, the second with costars. There was this one... An angel more demonic than the devil..." Sho shook his head. "She's crazy. Of course she was trying to kill me in the script, but there were about three takes when we had to convince her not to kill me for real..." Sho looked a bit too sly for Shizuo to take what he said at face value...or even half-value, come to that.

Maybe this was what the President had been getting at. Shizuo felt a bit uneasy. Devil, as in that blue demon-_thing_? Sho was _probably_ talking about Kyoko. "Oh? I'm not sure I see."

"There was a promo clip," Sho explained impatiently. "I was the devil, and she was supposed to kill me out of love for this other angel whose love for me was killing her. A bit complicated. But, like I said, the girl took a bit too much pleasure in pretending to murder me."

Shizuo's jaw dropped. Sentimental, much? Or suicidal? "She got it right, though, in the end?"

"Yeah. I was the one who made the mistake, actually," Sho admitted.

"How so?"

"I knew she wanted her revenge. I underestimated how important the character was, to her. I lost, and Kyoko's going to surpass me in popularity at any moment. I underestimated her." Sho rolled his eyes.

_He admitted it._ "It sounds like you know her quite well," Shizuo said, and forced himself to sound confused.

"I've known her since ... we played together as children. She changed quite a bit. She used to work at our _ryokan_, and we went to middle school together, you see." Sho swallowed, and his jaw moved under taut cheeks. From the corner of her eye, Sho's manager picked up on it immediately, and she turned, focusing on the exchange between Shizuo and Sho. Noticing her, Sho immediately cleared his throat and put a brave face on. "The experience of acting with her was unsettling."

Definitely Kyoko, then. Middle school together — that was interesting. Did Sho have anything to do with Kyoko's dropping out? Shizuo flicked the lighter on and off one more time. For peace of mind, of course. The atmosphere was definitely tense.

"A school grudge?" Shizuo offered, lightly.

Sho snorted. "You could call it that. Delusions of grandeur."

On a hunch, Shizuo finally asked, "Do you have any rivals?"

Sho scowled. "Of course I do. Tsuruga Ren. He's the most popular actor of our generation!"

The fact that the two stars weren't even really in the same area of showbiz, and yet were somehow haggling over popularity (at least in Sho's mind), nagged Shizuo. But at least now he had his answer.

Sho grumbled, "My Ex seems to be going out with him these days, too. And that was after she professed to hate him all those years she spent with me!"

Hmm. No telling who that was. Shizuo suppressed a sigh, and snapped the lighter's lid shut. He was done here. He doubted he would find out much more than this.

Sho stole a glance sideways. "Do they allow those on set?" he sneered.

Shizuo shrugged. "Don't know unless you tell." He stowed it in his pocket.

"Well, stop it. Don't add to the heat. It's hotter than hell." Sho stood up and strode off. He rested deeper in the shade and hovered by his manager's shoulder, who asked him questions in a concerned, urgent half-whisper. It was impossible to tell whether Sho was paying attention to her or not.

Shizuo did exactly as he was told when he was told. There were few chances for graceful creativity in the scene, but where Shizuo could work it in, he did, and felt a fierce sharp jet of pride flare from under his breastbone. He was praised with seventy-five points in stamps. When he changed back into his LoveMe uniform, the crew decided he looked strong, and recruited him to safely haul equipment. Shizuo could have carried more weight than they allowed him to, but he listened to their protestations of "safety concerns" and let the matter rest.

* * *

Moko and Kyoko showed up at work promptly and changed into their uniforms, as usual. Moko and Kyoko checked in with their manager, Sawara-san, for the morning pep talk and work schedule update, as usual. Then Moko and Kyoko met their new coworker. That was not usual. As requested, Moko and Kyoko graciously (that is, without saying a word, despite Izaya's chattering) escorted said coworker to the boys' new LoveMe locker rooms. Moko and Kyoko waited until Izaya emerged from the locker room dressed in bright shocking pink with the characteristic LoveMe logo. Moko and Kyoko exchanged glances_._

Izaya, of course, was beaming. He could act, _too_. He could endure _anything_.

Kyoko and Moko mentally agreed that this ritual was boring and irritating when Izaya failed to become bothered. Moko and Kyoko tried to keep Izaya busy. Unlike them in their early days, Izaya wasted no time angsting over the embarrassing aspects of his job. Izaya behaved impeccably. The staff loved him. The actors and actresses at the training school adored him right off. He got 200+ points in his stamp-book the very first day on the job, and Kyoko burned with jealousy with flaming spurts of disgust for the actions of her past self. For all of her first week, she had gotten _negative_ points. Not that Moko was disposed to like him either; she went by Kyoko's wariness, and kept her distance.

Oh, they hated him. He was too good to be true, and he knew it, and didn't bother to hide the fact that he knew it from them. In this respect the LoveMe members were probably wiser than three quarters of the people who got involved with him in Ikebukuro, or the rest of LME's staff, although for no better reason than luck.

Kyoko started to make her first voodoo doll of Izaya, complete with the shocking pink uniform. Although ostensibly it might be used for black magic, she never actually _did_ it — Kyoko had long ago turned the activity into an exercise for other purposes. Maria-chan sometimes frightened her a bit with how into it she actually was. Kyoko was upset, so she wanted to make Izaya's doll while she was thinking through her problems.

Tsuruga spied her making it on the stairs, deep in thought, that day.

"Shouldn't you be working?"

Kyoko sniffed. "It's lunch break, Tsuruga-san. I've eaten already. Have _you_?"

"Yes, of course," he said hastily, and cast around for another subject. What was that in her hands? "Another doll? It's been awhile since the last one. The last was mine, wasn't it?"

Kyoko turned around with a deeply gloomy face. Tsuruga almost took a step back. Kyoko's voice dropped. "The last ones were _all_ yours, Tsuruga-san..."

"Oh, really?" said Tsuruga, trying not to laugh.

"All eleven ... in the past nine months..."

Tsuruga chuckled nervously. "It's been that long since you started at LoveMe, huh?" said Tsuruga, now feeling the first prickles of regret that he had started this conversation.

"Yes." Kyoko turned back to her work, sewing slowly and methodically. "Before that, it was Sho Fuwa, of course. I only have eight of him, though—that was after three _years_. He didn't like me seeing him in his costumes on TV," she said matter-of-factly.

The laughter within Tsuruga died completely. When he could at last reply, he rasped, "So. Who's this guy?"

Kyoko answered, "Izaya Orihara. He just joined the LoveMe section. He has two hundred points already." She growled.

"I see." That fast. It was surprising. Perhaps he would slow down later.

Sensing he was not impressed, she flared. "He's an absolute demon!" Kyoko growled.

Tsuruga found that ironic, coming from her. He raised an eyebrow. _If he's got two hundred points already..._

"I just don't get it," she grumbled. "Why has he got an interest in _us_? The LoveMe section? Something he said implied that he deliberately set himself up to fail the audition in such a way that would attract Lory's attention. And that other guy, Shizuo Heiwajima. They don't even seem like each other. It just doesn't add up." She hunched over the doll, hands clenched extra tight. "I don't understand it at all. What do they want?"

Before she could say another word, Tsuruga leaned over her and plucked the doll from her fingers. Kyoko fumbled the needle, and it sunk into her thumb deep enough to draw blood, so that she gasped. Immediately, cursing his thoughtlessness, Tsuruga set down the mess again, caught her hand and sucked the welling blood from her finger before he could so much as think about it. He hated seeing blood. For her part, Kyoko forgot to breathe, and her eyes wouldn't blink until he pulled away. Fishing in his pockets, he found his wallet, opened the appropriate pocket, took out a band-aid, and wrapped up the thumb.

Tsuruga kept up his tight grip on her hand. "Don't think about it too much, Kyoko-chan." Actually, it was as much to her as it was to himself... _Ach_, blood... How could he be so _stupid_ as to act on impulse around needles? As if he needed a reminder...

Kyoko's heart was still beating extra hard from the encounter. It took effort, but at last she lifted her eyes from her hand to his face, and cried, "But I failed—as an actress!"

Tsuruga blinked. "What? How?"

"The needle, it made a mark!" Kyoko panicked, and the tears streaked her face to drip on her pink suit, near her section badge. She raked her free hand through her orange hair.

Then he remembered— Back when he didn't understand Kyoko, he had told her that to take better care of herself, and especially her face, was an actor's responsibility. Of course that was important, but... apparently she had taken him completely seriously.

It wouldn't be the first time when his well-intentioned advice went wildly off mark. Speaking of that, the entire misunderstanding after she had filled in for Yashiro was like that; what she said didn't necessarily indicate what she felt, and he had been an idiot to think she would disclose her full thoughts in public. He regretted what he had done then now.

Tsuruga cut in soothingly. "Oh, Kyoko-chan. Look, it was my fault. It's only your hand. It will heal in a day or two, and there aren't that many close-ups on your hands like on your face. It will be fine. I've sewed things before, so I know."

She stopped crying. "Huh? Oh, oh." Kyoko dried her cheeks, and sighed. "I must be tired, huh? I stayed up rather late last night making cabbage roses for my landlord. Which was fun, but— Sorry I overreacted."

"I — I guess so. Kyoko? It can't be that bad," said Tsuruga softly. "_Please_ don't worry. Can't you talk to them?"

She pulled her hand away and dipped her face in shame. "I— _I_ can't."

"Why not?"

"I didn't tell you what happened before. I should have, but I was afraid — too much was happening. What if you didn't believe me? I think I alluded to it, but I couldn't have made much sense. Izaya found my vulnerable spot, just like the Beagle did. He blackmailed me." She wiped her eyes. "It wasn't important, what he asked, but what if it happens again? It will work every time. I can't avoid Orihara-san. He's in my section."

"I see."

"They both can see them. Both Orihara-san and Heiwajima-san. I don't know what to do."

"See what?"

"Pandora's Box." She told him about the kidnapping of her fairy-demons, and the blackmail.

"So that explains it," said Tsuruga. "I can't see them at all, except for your scary aura."

Kyoko shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought—" Kyoko hiccuped.

Tsuruga shook his head. "Forget what I said. I thought I was talking about something else." He left his gaze drift to the side distractedly. "Don't hide those things from me again. I was worried about you, after both Sho and the Beagle went after you."

They sat silent for some moments, except for Kyoko hiccuping irregularly before she got herself under control.

Finally, Tsuruga spoke. "I'll make inquiries. Take care of yourself, Kyoko. I'll be your backup." He frowned. "Although actually, from a practical standpoint, Yashiro-san might be better in this case; I know he'll try to help you. If it's an emergency, call him first. Take it from me, he's chilling when he's angry, although you probably can't imagine that." Tsuruga mused on a memory from early in his acting career. "Anyway, he might know more about his spirit business — you know how he's always breaking his cell phone...?"

To his surprise, Kyoko hugged him quick and hard, and sprang away before he quite realized what had happened. "Thank you. Thank you so much. S-s-sorry to bother you!" Blushing, she backed away again, and bowed deeply. She rushed off jittery and desperate not to think about what she had just done..._  
_

In her wake, Tsuruga felt a bit small and lost sitting on the stairs by himself. "Put some Neosporin on it!" he called after her.

She half-turned to wave and called back, still running, "Yes! Thank you! Will do!" And she was gone, back on the job.

Tsuruga looked down. In her excitement and hurry, Kyoko had forgotten the half-made Izaya doll.

The least he could do was to look into these people. If he had to... Tsuruga hated to think of what would happen if he had to knock down their careers, but at this point it would be easy. He was their _sempai_ after all, and a powerful, renowned actor, and everyone gave him a little leeway in his behavior because he was not precisely native Japanese. Still. If only this situation didn't worry Kyoko so.

He didn't want to see her worry, especially over another man. Sometimes, Kyoko took him so seriously that it scared Tsuruga. He showed the grey side of his character so rarely. He knew she saw past his smiling lying face, but that was natural to his mask of Tsuruga Ren, and not his ... real self, which was the source of the unexpected bouts of ambivalent greyness that confused her. He believed she could get past this, though, since they were fast becoming friends. If working her feelings out with sewing helped her, so much the better. But as much as possible, he didn't want her thinking about her ex-boyfriend, Sho, or... anyone else, really; she tended to obsess over the people who posed a danger to her. Like this Orihara guy.

Yeah, right. If he were honest with himself — he knew what Yashiro would say — he was plain jealous.

He couldn't get closer, but he had to protect her. He made his resolve. Talk to Orihara and Heiwajima, and find out what was going on.

"Ren?" Yashiro came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Ren?"

It took him a moment to swim out of the depths of his thoughts. The voice surprised him, so his limbs jerked a bit, and Yashiro took a step backwards — he probably was remembering his first make-or-break years as Tsuruga's manager. Tsuruga turned around. "It's all right. It's all right. I was just thinking."

Yashiro relaxed. "Oh-oo_oooh_," said Yashiro, a sly and pleased smile stretching slowly over his face.

"It's nothing, really." Tsuruga forced a smile on his face, and thought, bubbles, sparkles, tiny hearts, think, anything cheery...

Yashiro frowned. "Lie to yourself, Ren, not to me. It has to do with Kyoko."

With some irritation (did Yashiro think _every_ problem in his life had to do with Kyoko? Don't answer that—Yes, he did), Tsuruga started, "You always say that. How did—" Tsuruga cut himself off when he looked down and saw the tangle of doll, thread, and cloth on the ground. He bent and picked it up. "She left this..."

Yashiro sighed in one great gust. "_Yare-yare_." Concerned, Tsuruga checked him from the corner of his eyes. "You can give it back later. We need to go." Yashiro checked his watch. "Right. Let's eat."

"Huh?"

"Kyoko-chan says it's my job to help you eat, and I am taking her seriously. I made time. _Saa_. C'mon now."

"Yes," Tsuruga sighed, and allowed himself to be led. "All right. Hey, Yashiro-san, I just remembered to ask: how come you can wear a watch, but you always break a cell...?"

"There are rules, if you know... No, too complicated. Suffice it to say that wireless technologies that work in invisible ways are more easily disrupted by ambient magic?"

Oh, was _that_ the case. Funny. A thought occurred to him. "Yashiro-san, have you ever seen anything flying around Kyoko?"

"Like what?"

"Blue spirits, or pink fairies. Things like that."

"Come to think of it..." Yashiro thought. "Sometimes. Also flying _katakana_. They're rather humorous. Why?"

"Really."

"Mm. When she's upset, or happy, gushing about characters, or in a daydream. Haven't you seen them? She has quite an aura."

"I guess ... not. I've felt the aura, though."

Yashiro nodded with self-satisfaction. "Mmm, mmm. Well, they tend to alarm people - if her anger is directed, they can see the spirits - but she's really a good person, so don't worry too much about it. It's nothing to be concerned about. it happens sometimes, and she has good control — I know that, because i's unusual for manifestations to so evenly represent the good and the evil sides of one's personality — otherwise I'd have coached her myself. She'll grow into it, or out of it, most likely. From the outside, it's an identity crisis of sorts."

_Good control_? Those huge aura spikes were an _identity crisis_?

Seeming to sense what he was thinking, Yashiro turned and smiled at him distractingly. "That's all I know. But I've always been close to my psychic side."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, my father's line was all detectives or fortune-tellers, and most had some degree of psychic ability. Rather strange situation, because they were competing with each other all the time from both sides of the law. I got a large dose of the psychic. My brothers think I'm odd. Babyish, you know, and I'm actually the oldest in the family — back then I behaved like that _Tsukigomori_ director, if you can imagine it!" He nodded knowingly. "I got no respect, but never mind. This job is the best for me. Ren, get in and let's go eat!"

Yashiro gently pushed Tsuruga into the car, and Tsuruga gave up resistance, rolling his eyes. "_Hai, hai_..." Once in the car, he quizzed Yashiro. "So how did you know it was a Kyoko problem?"

Yashiro laughed. "Still thinking about that? It's simple, Ren. It's the eyes. You look different when you think about her."

"That so?" said Tsuruga, in a flat deep tone that hid all emotions and resisted Yashiro's best attempts at analysis.

Yashiro smirked despite himself. "Yes, I would know, wouldn't I?" Then a faint crease appeared between his eyebrows, and he let his voice deepen as he said, seriously, "Did you scare Kyoko today, Ren?"

"I don't think so. She was frightened already. There are some new people in the LoveMe section."

"Is that so? Who?"

"Nobody we know. Two nobodies who requested that assignment, and had enough talent and passion—I suppose—that the President let them in."

"So, who are the new girls?"

"Boys."

"_What_?"

"They're guys." Tsuruga sighed and leaned one elbow on the table, with his head on his hands.

"In hot pink? Those _shocking_ pink uniforms? They volunteered?" Yashiro muttered in bewilderment, then speculated under his breath, "Romantic rivals?" No. He shook his head and waved his hands while Tsuruga stared at him. "No, nothing, nothing at all."

Tsuruga rolled his eyes and went on. "It's the opposite problem, I think. They're enemies, or so Kyoko thinks, although she wouldn't say that in so many words. Another Sho, another Beagle. Vie Ghoul, I mean." Tsuruga shook his head as if to clear it of ghosts.

A look of distinct unease settled on Yashiro's features, and he leaned forward urgently. "Ren, I don't know what happened last Valentine's Day exactly, but I know one thing: I never, ever, _ever_ want to see Kyoko in that state again. And you know what happened best of all of us."

"I know." Tsuruga shifted and propped his chin on one hand. "I have to act." Then muttered, "—How does she attract these people?"

"Naturally," Yashiro said huffily, like an overbearing mother, then sat back as though he was disgusted with the whole matter and sighed again.

He'd been doing that a lot. "Are we late or something?" Tsuruga asked, in all innocence.

Yashiro jerked like he'd been zapped by static and a look of sick guilt—he'd been caught not doing his job—crossed his face. He stood and checked his watch. "Ah, that's right." Yashiro snapped back into job mode. "We won't spoil your perfect record, if that's what you were referring to. Finish your food, Ren." He snapped his briefcase open and fished around for Tsuruga's schedule, and repeated, "_Finish your food_, Ren."

"I'm trying," Tsuruga protested, eating as quickly as he knew how.

"Try harder. Kyoko would be mad at you." Yashiro shut the briefcase and headed to the front desk to pay the bill.

Tsuruga muttered sullenly, "Kyoko won't know I didn't finish," and took another bite.

Barely another minute passed, and then the impulse to hurry possessed Yashiro. "That's _it_, Ren. Let's go."

Aware that Yashiro was serious, Ren sputtered, "What? — weren't you the one who suggested this — ?" He gathered his stuff.

"That's right, and we're almost late, and so it's into the car we go," Yashiro said huffily over his shoulder. "Right. Now!" Tsuruga took off running after Yashiro, and they both piled panting into the car and Yashiro drove off. Yashiro ordered Tsuruga tensely, "We have five minutes. Ren, don't interrupt when I'm driving."

Tsuruga didn't think Yashiro had made himself worry about the commute for quite a long time — and it had been number of the years that he'd started working with him. Yashiro must have been seriously concerned, then, to stretch the schedule's limits so they could have this talk. For himself, Tsuruga wasn't worried at all. Yashiro's sense of time was too good to lose track; he would make it.


	8. Interlude 4

Interlude #4: Dollars Internet Chat

**Monta: **And now, there's nothing

**Tanaka Tarou: **Nothing? What?

**Monta: **No explosions, no yelling, no crying people kneeling beside broken vending machines, no unlit cigarettes littering the ground...

**Bakyura: **Seriously? _Maji desu ka_?

**Tanaka Tarou: **_Chotto matte_. Wait, was it that noisy around where you live?

**Monta: **Yes. Round my complex the commotion is very thick. Lots of scammers, loan runners, yakuza flunkies, you know the type. They make trouble... Cheap rent space tho'

* * *

_Celty had to agree. Shizuo was usually in that area of town, and now it had been unusually quiet of late. As if they expected a crackdown at any moment, or they were seizing the opportunity to do shady business again, unchecked..._

* * *

**Bakyura: **First the information broker's disappeared, now the strongest man in Ikebukuro?

—How will the city function?

**Monta: **Very well without them, I would assume.

**Setton: **_Too_ well.

**Monta: **There's always a price to pay. :-/

* * *

_Ouch, that hurt. Monta was right. The price had been her transporter job. Celty wasn't particularly in need of money, but she did like keeping busy at night. It helped, because as an immortal, she could never sleep. Like humans, she still thought that the house felt creepy at night, with just her and Shinra. She couldn't watch TV, which she would have liked to pass the time with, because he was such a light sleeper._

_But maybe that was a small price to pay for peace._

* * *

**Supiikaa: **You know, Tom looks like he's about to kick a hole in someone's van. It's quite strange :-) The strongest man in Ikebukuro is supposed to be the one who loses his temper.

**Monta: **He wouldn't! Really? Tom?

**Supiikaa: **He would. He has a bone to pick with Kadota's gang.

**Bakyura: **The ex-Blue Squares?

**Tanaka Tarou: **Yes, they're _daradara_ right now.

**Bakyura: **Ah, _sou, sou_. Dollars. _Daarazu._ I thought I saw them helping that ... never mind.

* * *

_Huh. Who'd have thought. Maybe the chance to do good, and not be in danger, appealed to their sensibilities. I know they did some scary stuff for the Blue Squares._

_Celty thought ruefully, there's lot of people who lose their tempers in Ikebukuro, but their efforts and feelings seem so pathetic compared to Shizuo's extraordinary fits of passion that people forget the other scandals that go on so regularly._

* * *

**Supiikaa: **Anyway, Tom seems to think that spending time with Walker and Erika poisoned his best business partner with otaku fetishism, or something, and that's why he's suddenly gone delinquent.

**Monta: **...Yeah, right...

**Bakyura: **I could believe that.

**Tanaka Tarou: **_You_ would.

**Bakyura: **Anyway, but why?

**Setton: **Why does Tom do anything? He needs a job. It could just be the pachinko junkies skipping out as usual. That's enough to make any loan collector perennially upset. Did you hear about the red lunchbox prank?

* * *

_Tom probably has to act fierce now that Shizuo's not there to scare the serial debtors. Maybe that means he looks angry? Or is he just upset about Shizuo and is taking it out on them?_

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **No, never heard that story. Hey, where is the strongest man in Ikebukuro anyway?

**Monta: **This is all speculation, so...ahem. ^,^

**Tanaka Tarou: **Oh, uh, okay. So, what next?

**Setton: **...

**Bakyura: **Radiation symbols...art...and stuff? Inspirational, of course ~ !

* * *

_I wonder if the government will stand for that. But it does sound like a fine Dollars good deed, if we can think of something..._

* * *

**Setton: **Sounds good. When should we start?

**Bakyura: **You mean where?

—On the Kadota gang's door, of course. I think it would make a good replacement for the anime girl. Who's with me? Come on, it'll be a wonderful walking billboard of hope, love, and peace... :-P What's not to like?

**Monta: **Um, guys, I think making an enemy of Togusa is a bad idea. He's the driver of the van after all.

—Just fair warning: (It would be just like him to go and complain constantly but then get too fond of that door and explode once it's been_helpfully_ replaced... You know he likes _moe_ things, right?)

—I speak from experience. The "cool and collected" thing is an act.

—Not to mention, prank vandalism is still vandalism.

**Setton: ***Good point!*

**Bakyura: **We could make a radiation-symbol version bunny girl

* * *

_Now this is just ridiculous. I'll come back and volunteer again when they're serious._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Er...

—_No_.

* * *

_Thanks, kiddo._

* * *

**Bakyura: **And give it to Saika.

**Tanaka Tarou:** *****!*****

**Bakyura: **BEST IDEA EVAAARRRRR!

**Tanaka Tarou: ***headdesk* Please, no... Bakyura... you're killin' me...

**Monta:** The sad thing is that I think I actually know who and what you're talking about. *facepalm* Good night.

**Setton:** Good night!

* * *

_Perhaps seriously discussing anything involving radiation is a lost cause. The older generations panic straight-up, and the young'uns (Celty snickered at herself, using such a phrase—technically she was hundreds of years old, but she never _felt_ old) constantly make jokes. I think we all need a serious tension reliever, but none of us are sober enough to think of an appropriate one._

_Celty mused for awhile. I'll have to think on this. I still really like the idea._

* * *

Author's Note: Inspiration for the Dollars' haphazard "radiation symbol / art to inspire the populace plan" came from an episode of PBS's Frontline, "The Atomic Artists." Google it, since this site won't allow me to embed the link.

That video is about what real people in Japan did artistically with the atomic/tsunami disaster in April 2011. Interesting, isn't it? I rather think those artists should be honorary Dollars, even if I don't completely agree with their end goals.


	9. Chapter 4

_Characters: Izaya Orihara, Namie Yagiri, Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty Sturluson, Ren Tsuruga, Kasuka 'Yuuhei' Heiwajima, Yukihito Yashiro_

Chapter Four: In Which Debts are Called In, Left Behind, Kept Every Which Way and Swept Under the Counter

Izaya went home every evening to his home, and Namie. Not in the romantic sense at all, of course. Namie fed him undigestible stuff every time, and Izaya went to bed with an aching stomach and slept like the dead. This was because nobody had told Izaya that most days LME work was physical. So this happened every day for a week before Izaya noticed something odd.

Namie was making herself 'at home,' he noticed. She seemed to be bored without him around, and her meddling had decreased. There was more dust. Namie had set up more picture frames. There were new and inexplicable nicknacks accumulating: feathers, paperweights, glass balls. More magnets on the fridge. Sticky notes everywhere. Two TVs sat in the living room without any wires sticking in them. (Izaya missed watching television. He couldn't help the nagging feeling that he was becoming blind to what was going on in his home city, no matter how many contacts he had who would notify him at a drop of a hat if something major came up.)

If the stuff kept piling up, Izaya knew he would not be able abide it. He had created this arrangement with the understanding that Namie was a neat person. She was a very _clinical_ scientist; it was clear from the first time he had met her. She was now his housekeeper. For this to start happening now indicated something was wrong.

But when he asked her about it— "Too much free time," was all Namie would say.

If that was true, the rooms should be spick and span, shouldn't they? "Do you want to start a new business?" Izaya asked prodded tentatively, with the sharpness of a porcupine quill.

Namie shifted restlessly. "Yes. No. I'm not ready."

"But you're thinking about it," said Izaya flatly.

"...I suppose." She was trapped.

"Namie. You can go outside anytime you want." Izaya drummed his fingers on the desk rhythmically. _Da dum dadum da dum._

Namie frowned, hunched over, pressed her back to the kitchen counter, and crossed her arms over her chest. "No. I can't." She licked her lips. "_Nii-san_ is everywhere. It's the springtime of love...for him." The kitchen appeared to get even darker.

Detached, Izaya focused on Namie's aura in a way he hadn't before—Namie had a similar black, depressive aura like Kyoko's, but unlike hers, it was not sentient. And what could have happened to make Kyoko's react like that?

Izaya's slight smile snapped out, like a light-switch flicked off. "I understand," he said, perfectly serious. "Just as clearly, you need to get out of here, while I am gone."

Namie bit her lip.

"I'm working for LME now, Namie. I'm not home at all really. Get another job! Do something. Find some guy to fix the TV instead of letting this place go to seed." Izaya jerked his head sharply sideways at the TV. "No. Actually, just fix it." He tried to stare into her eyes as he gave the order.

She wouldn't meet them. "I'm doing the laundry," said Namie half-heartedly in self-defense.

The side-step from the conversation was obvious. "Thanks. I needed that done," said Izaya, half-sarcastically. Well, it really did need to get done, but that wasn't the point, was it.

She mumbled something.

A thought occurred to Izaya. "Or, maybe I am wrong. Could it be?" His shark senses smelled blood in the water. "Maybe that's _not_ the problem."

Namie's head jerked up and she stared at Izaya.

"Maybe you want to get fired," said Izaya casually. "You poured soda on my TV. You serve me terrible meals. You are slowly taking up my _valuable_ and _uncluttered_ space. You are barely civil with me. I think you want me to fire you without your having to say anything." He turned around in chair to stare Namie in the eyes. "Am I right?"

She said nothing.

Okay, either the previous theory, _that,_ or she was in love with him. Naa_aah_. He always needled her about it and she never reacted. He hit the nail on the head the this time.

Izaya knew that Namie wanted to go. She hated herself for depending on Izaya and she hated herself for not being able to come up with a suitable alternative to get herself out of her own situation. She wanted security, but not Izaya's security. It was probable she had been wishing that she could kickstart her own efforts to climb out of dependence with a 'healthy panic' created by being fired. Izaya knew better. She couldn't actually leave security. Without security she wouldn't be able to dream of a future, or to brainstorm what to do next; she wasn't used to the rough side of life. This sloppy thinking must end.

"Put this black stuff back in the fridge and get me a yoghurt." Izaya turned back around. "And tell me when you are ready to quit. Or go find another job on top of this one. Go on. Clean up the general mess you've made." He waved his arms over the room lazily.

"Yes, Orihara-san."

"That's more like it," Izaya said crankily, without turning his head. He finished reading the newspaper on his desk and shook it with a crackly noise before he put it down. Then he left to take a shower before bed, wrapping one arm around his stomach as if he was either starving or about to be sick.

Namie shivered. She thought he had been faking, but now she was not so sure. He had not been acting like himself for the last few days. It had suddenly occured to her that even if she hurt him beyond what he could sustain, Izaya would stubbornly and deliberately fall for her revenge — refusing to fire her — maybe even until he died, if it got that bad. He had his own brand of cold honor which was, in its way, frightening. It was also perhaps the only way he made himself vulnerable to people.

And now it was too late to get him the yoghurt he'd asked for, which she knew was all the plea for relief he would ever allow himself to make.

So when Izaya left the shower ten minutes later, he found a hot water bottle carefully placed in the middle of his bed, and a mug of warm milk on the bedside table.

A mute apology. That meant truce.

* * *

Shizuo returned home from another plane ride, very tired, to find Celty waiting for him outside his apartment. There was no telling how long she had been there, staking him out. A stubborn woman, Celty.

She took in the shocking pink suit and immediately started laughing so hard that she had to take off her yellow cat-eared helmet before the smoke lifted it from her neck and pushed it to fall to the ground. Gulfs of smoke puffed upwards in time to her gasps for breath. Shizuo watched the black puffs form clouds and disappear into the atmosphere. Oddly, their effect was so calming that he couldn't get angry with her. Finally, he said mildly, "Celty, you can stop laughing now."

After a couple more smoky puffs of laughter, Celty recovered herself, tucked her yellow cat-helmet under one arm, and typed furiously. **That suit is very funny. Who are you working for?**

Shizuo looked at her. "You're one to talk."

**Okay, not **_**very**_** funny. **She held out her phone, pulled it back again, and re-typed. **LOL.** Yes, Celty could smirk without smirking.

Shizuo rolled his eyes. "I am working for an agency called LME. If you must know, the acronym stands for Lory's Majestic Entertainment. The owner is — eccentric. No, don't ask. Izaya dragged me into it. The reasons will no doubt sound stupid if I say them out loud."

Celty nodded seriously. **That explains it. Everyone was worried about you. **Both Izaya and Shizuo, actually, which was...peculiar. If Celty had her head back, she would have smiled. **Isn't that the agency your brother works for?**

"Yeah. Got it in one."

**Seen him yet?**

"No, I got a stunt double's job. At least it takes me away from Izaya sometimes, too."

Celty got exited. **Oh, that's a good one! I can see you doing that. Why didn't we ever think of it as a possibility?**

"Because there aren't that many tall blondes in Tokyo?" Shizuo said dryly.

**Oh, who are you doubling? They must be famous, **Celty typed.

"It's Sho Fuwa. He's a rock star, of a sort."

**Hmm, never heard of him.** Celty shrugged. **Tell me if his music's any good. I'm building a list.**

"Frankly, I'm not the person to ask about music quality."

**And why would that be?**

"One, Fuwa doesn't actually play his music much on the sets where I am; the music is dubbed over the action instead. Two, I just don't have much of an ear for music. It sounds like noise."

**Ah, makes sense. That's too bad. **Celty rubbed her neck, then typed, **Shizuo, I really hope you can keep this job. It could be a very good thing for you.**

Shizuo looked at her. "I suppose I'll take your word for it, then." He had too many conflicted emotions—about Izaya, about his brother—to really feel excited that maybe, just maybe, he had found the perfect job.

**I feel sorry for Tom, though, losing you so suddenly.**

"Yeah. I owe him an explanation." Shizuo brushed past Celty and started mounting the stairs to his apartment. "You okay for work with Izaya so busy?"

Celty shrugged. **Shinra always wants me at home more. We don't need the money. He's been thinking about teaching me basic doctoring. **She thought about what she had just typed, and shook her head to clear it. The smoke rising from her head lashed to and fro. No, no. She didn't like that idea. Blood. If she was human, she would have blanched at the thought. Which was weird, she never thought of herself as squeamish, and that was why she hadn't objected when Shinra brought it up the night before... She typed, **Actually, I can find another job if I want to. I know! Maybe I'll take your old one and help out Tom! ***Beat* **If that's alright, that is.**

Shizuo rolled his neck back in her direction to say, "Fine by me. That's good to hear." Then he stopped on the stairs and turned to lean over the railing. "Hang on, can you come back tomorrow morning to get a letter I'll write to Tom, explaining everything? I can recommend you in it, too."

**Of course. How early?**

"Seven o'clock."

**That's not even that early! Yes, I'll be there, no problem.**

"Thanks." Shizuo got to the door, opened it. "Goodnight, Celty."

**Goodnight, Shizuo.**

**No fair, you didn't look at my reply!** Celty stomped her foot.

Shizuo's hand waved to her through the window, and then the lights blinked off. Celty mounted her motorcycle, whose engine bucked playfully and gave a horse-like neigh, and she drove back to Shinra to tell him the news.

* * *

Kasuka Heiwajima, aka 'Yuuhei Hanejima,' had played a couple of roles with Tsuruga Ren, once upon a time. He was a little surprised when Tsuruga called him to ask him a couple of questions about the new LME members. Lory had called Kasuka the instant Shizuo had entered the auditions. Kasuka was past feeling either hope or fear for his brother. What came, would come. He agreed to meet Tsuruga.

They met in the downstairs LME café. It was the one time and place when both of their busy schedules coincided and met. Before they went inside, Tsuruga gave Yashiro half an hour to 'get lost' and find his way back. This was surprisingly hard for Yashiro, who tried not to be seen lingering about the door.

Yashiro 'left' and Tsuruga breathed a sigh of relief—even if it wasn't true privacy, it was better than nothing. Luckily, Yuuhei wasn't quite famous enough to have his own manager yet. He still took odd and varied roles as a semi-celebrity TV talent. Tsuruga knew the type. Though his popularity and talent recognition curve was slow, Yuuhei wouldn't take much longer to be widely recognized by the public, especially if Lory kept sending him out to handle local TV.

The other reason for the slow growth in popularity, in the first place, was the result of Yuuhei's strange-but-alluring lack of emotive expression; to some, the effect was uncanny or unearthly, but to others (namely, the fangirls), it was the cutest blank slate to which all manner of attitudes could be safely ascribed to—and for now, the girls' influence was what was exponentially inflating his stats.

If Tsuruga understood Yuuhei, however, he was the type who was unlikely to be fazed by the publicity and the tabloid hype that would bring him a well-deserved manager or bodyguard squad. He would then be _less _than fazed by the decline in popularity. A good thing; that popularity would probably fluctuate for the entirety of his career. Yuuhei could not be separated from his looks, which blended seamlessly with his sinuous, catlike, cool, reticent nature.

When thinking of Yuuhei, Tsuruga was always irresistibly reminded of a particular American President, Silent Cal Coolidge. Was Yuuhei's popularity due to the same alluring and charismatic quality the President summoned to his advantage in the Roaring Twenties? That quality which did not inspire any deep love for, or understanding of, his character, but one that captured the audience through their sheer fascination and curiosity in Yuuhei's thoughts and the life behind his pretty, shuttered face.

Tsuruga spoke first. "I'll gather you heard that your brother joined show-biz."

"Ah," Yuuhei acknowledged. It was hard to tell, but Tsuruga was felt fairly certain from the tone of this reply that Yuuhei had known for some time.

"I have some concerns. I thought maybe you could tell me a little about him," said Tsuruga. Yuuhei's blank stare made him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted his legs once more.

Yuuhei said only, "I see." His gaze made Tsuruga wonder what he would think if he knew it was for Kyoko, and that he had never met the man himself. "_Sempai_." Respect, but testing.

"Yes?" said Tsuruga, uncomfortably.

Yuuhei shifted but little. "If I may, what made you concerned?" he asked.

"Ah—" Tsuruga really hadn't wanted to answer this question. "He seems very strong. A bit — albeit very angry."

"I cannot deny that is who my brother is." Yuuhei spread his hands, a slight movement that nevertheless startled Tsuruga as if he had seen a sudden gust of wind sent birds flying into the sky. And in the quiet afterwards, he saw the resemblance: Yuuhei's arms were the tree branches, and the words were the birds whirling into flight... "He does his best."

Tsuruga shook his head and tried to dispel the disturbance of daydreams. Yuuhei rarely spoke even this much. He owed him something. Tsuruga bowed his head and decided to confess. "If you really must know, my _kohai _is in the LoveMe section, and she was concerned about ... one of the men who recently joined."

Yuuhei bent his head forward slightly. "Very likely," he said softly, without a hint of sarcasm.

"Likely?" asked Tsuruga, confused.

"I wish to remain neutral," Yuuhei explained.

Abruptly, Tsuruga felt like he missed a significant portion of the conversation. He was lost and floundering in the mysterious oceans again, without a map. It was always so with Yuuhei.

Yuuhei reached over and picked up the small circumspect satchel that had been hanging over his chair the entire meeting and yet Tsuruga had not noticed. He rifled through it. Found the CD he was looking for. He slid the CD over the table to Tsuruga. Tsuruga took it, but Yuuhei did not release it just yet.

"I know my brother very well. He doesn't intend to harm anyone. The other man—" Yuuhei leaned forward.

"Izaya Orihara," Tsuruga supplied.

"Yes. Izaya has been my brother's rival for some time. They don't like each other."

"Then why did they join the section together?" asked Tsuruga, confused.

Yuuhei said simply, "Yes." _So, that is the question,_ Tsuruga mentally translated, and with that, Yuuhei let go of the disk. "You will understand when you see."

He closed his satchel and gathered his coat and scarves, adding, "My brother, as I said, doesn't intend harm to anyone. But when people come in between these two men, they get hurt." He turned around, and looked Tsuruga in the eyes.

It was Tsuruga who replied to his silent question, "I understand." He slipped the disk in his pocket. "I won't make judgments."

"Good." The briefest of smiles appeared on Yuuhei's face. "_Sempai,_ you will be a good friend to my brother." As if it were a sure thing.

Tsuruga was dumbstruck.

In that moment, Yuuhei's eyes shifted past him.

Shizuo stalked past Yashiro and into the café. He wanted a cup of coffee, or tea, or whatever-you-name-it. _Soothing_ tea.

Yashiro thought about saying something to stop Shizuo, but he couldn't think of anything—and he was already out the door. Would that have been a good idea anyway? _Tinkle-tinkle. _

"_Irasshaimase—_"

Yashiro heard the shocked silence, then the muffled greetings, and backed away from the door. He had almost escaped to the other end of the hall when Tsuruga swept through and caught up with him. "For goodness' sake, Yashiro-san!" he snapped. "Can't you get properly lost when I tell you to?"

"Yes, but—"

Tsuruga rolled his eyes. "Yes, Kyoko this, Kyoko that. I forgive you this time." Tsuruga stifled an undignified laugh.

"You left fifteen minutes early. I always stick around in case it turns out that you didn't have a good sense of time. So it was a good thing that I—"

"Yashiro-san. Don't push your luck. We both know what you were really doing."

"Yes, sir," said Yashiro, smoothing his face, and then ventured, "I don't regret it, sir."

The cheek. "I never doubted _that_," said Tsuruga.

Yashiro's professional side took over. "Good, because I believe it is almost lunchtime. Ren, why didn't you order_ something more substantial than coffee?_"

"I have no idea," said Tsuruga, because of course he had not even thought of it.

"We have extra time. Where would you like to go?"

"Fast food," Tsuruga supplied.

Yashiro snorted. "Never mind, forget I asked you."

"That was just rude, Yashiro-san."

"_Hah!_"

Tsuruga rounded on Yashiro. "What?"

"Your questions about Heiwajima's brother were rude! Weren't they?" Yashiro shot back defensively. "Was that a justified use of your _sempai_ status?"

Tsuruga actually growled. "Yashiro_oo_— Of all the— You _hypocrite_!"

"Blockhead!" Yashiro shot back.

They bickered and argued all the way back to the restaurant.

* * *

Shizuo walked in the room and met the eyes of his brother Kasuka—then sought Tsuruga's. Tsuruga avoided his eyes. "I'll leave you to it," he muttered, and walked out first, though Kasuka seemed about to go.

"Goodbye, Tsuruga-_sempai_," Kasuka murmured from behind Tsuruga.

Tsuruga swept out without another word. The door clicked. He was gone.

Shizuo stared after him. "You have a _sempai_?" It shouldn't have been so surprising, but Shizuo was amazed.

Kasuka wrinkled his nose, tipped his head. "_Nii_-san." _And my first sempai is...?_

You absurd, droll little thing. "Yeah, right," muttered Shizuo, and fell silent. _If I was a _sempai_, I never acted like one. You always were like that for _me_, you know that?_ He almost laughed, madly, breathlessly. _And definitely not now. I joined later than you._

Kasuka set down the satchel, sat down gracefully, and gestured to the table. _Eat._ He could not have been more clear.

Shizuo crossed to the table and sat down.

The waiter was brisk. "What would you have, sir?"

"Green tea. Hot."

"Coming right up."

They waited, and no one spoke.

"_Douzo._ Anything else?" The waiter was nervous, tense because of the lack of chatter. In his experience, actors were usually chirpy.

They shook their heads in unison. The waiter left them alone after that.

Safe. Shizuo tried to... he didn't know. "Kasuka, I—"

It was too soon. Kasuka waited, impassively stirring his coffee with a silver spoon. It was a good little café, even if a little over-priced, but that was to be expected in the workplace of wealthy actors.

Shizuo hung his head. "I'm sorry."

Kasuka shrugged.

"No. No, I mean, I'm really sorry." His head lowered further.

The sun had lowered; now it announced that it was setting. Through the glass windows of the café, the clouds appeared a freakish pink and red, bathing the café in a yellow-orange glow. Kasuka immediately dropped his spoon in the coffee, touched Shizuo's shoulder and gently pushed him back into a sitting position.

Shizuo took a deep breath and took off his shades, wiping his eyes. "Man, how many times do I have to screw up, Kasuka? How many times..."

Once again, Kasuka patted his shoulder.

"I come to this and it hurts so much more than if I'd snapped and lashed out at someone. At least then it would be expected, right?" He took a shaky breath. "Instead, Izaya baits me..."

Kasuka shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I keep causing you trouble, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Kasuka signaled the waiter. "Two yoghurts." The waiter jumped in surprise, and turned around. "Yes, two yoghurts...strawberry flavored?" Kasuka shrugged—_doudemoii—_and turned back to his conversation.

"Shizuo. It's fine. _Daijobu da yo_." Their eyes met, and Shizuo believed.

"Yes. _Hai_." Shizuo hesitated, then sipped his tea. It helped.

The waiter brought the yoghurts. Kasuka pushed one to Shizuo first, then took the other for himself. He said one thing. "You joined LME, with Orihara-san. Why?" Kasuka opened his yoghurt and started eating.

Shizuo wouldn't touch his. He didn't really care about the yoghurt. That had always been Kasuka's thing. "He sent me a packet of information. It was so ridiculous, I couldn't believe it. I had to meet the person who spouted such romantic nonsense as if it were good business sense."

"Ah." A nearly imperceptible smile slipped through Kasuka's lips.

"Anyway. I don't know how, but somehow Izaya took me through the _entire_ application process without my knowledge. Probably forged things. Or stole them." Shizuo shook his head.

Kasuka chuckled.

"Yes, I know, I'd better make sure or I'll pay hell later. Like in high school." Shizuo drummed his fingers on the table. His fingers made shallow dents in the fake wood. Kasuka flicked a surreptitious glance at the waiter, then pointed to Shizuo's tea. Shizuo picked it up obediently and drank.

The bottom of the yoghurt cup grated against Kasuka's spoon, which scraped at the remnants of white left. Kasuka finished his yoghurt, took Shizuo's, opened it and ate. That always seemed to happen, Shizuo thought distantly. Ah well. It was just a part of the ritual.

"I'm sorry I'm in your field, Kasuka. I didn't mean to barge in on your show like this."

Kasuka raised his head. "I am not upset." He shrugged, licked the spoon of his yoghurt, pointed it at Shizuo. _Look, I took yours, didn't I?_

But Shizuo did mind. He felt the conflict pounding in his heart, and the guilt had been piling up in his head all that week.

"So stay awhile," Kasuka said. Shizuo shook his head. "Stay if you _want_ to," said Kasuka, more forcefully. The emphasis was even more unusual than any rare length of words.

He still felt reluctant, so Shizuo said only, "Maybe." It was still Kasuka's turf, as far as he was concerned. He sipped the last of his cooling green tea.

That was enough for Kasuka, however. "After application." He stirred his coffee.

"Izaya forced me to meet Lory. I... I couldn't say no."

Kasuka nodded. "The job will do you good."

Shizuo wondered a little at that. "If you say so." If Kasuka was so sure... "I'll do my best to handle Izaya," he promised, and put his shades back on.

That, Kasuka could accept. He finished his coffee and organized the plates. The brothers stood together.

"Go. I'll pay." Kasuka pointed to the door.

"What?" Shizuo's head swiveled, listening. "Damn, you're right. Pay you back sometime. Izaya—" He launched himself at the glass door which led to the outside gardens, threw it open, and took off running. Kasuka winced, waiting for the crash—but for once the glass didn't crack or shatter.

The oft-spoken-of Izaya burst in.

The waiter started. "_Irasshaimase—_"

"_Konbanwa_, Heiwajima-Hanejima-_sempai_. Talking about me?" Izaya modified his speech as usual to fit his aims, although his demeanor made it clear that he would have liked to address Yuuhei familiarly. Still, he bit his tongue.

Yuuhei cocked his head to the side, nodded once.

"Ah, I see." Izaya grinned with anticipation. "Silence again. I don't suppose you could tell me where dear Shizzy-_chan_ has gone?"

Yuuhei pointed.

"Thanks for your help. Bye." Izaya grinned, saluted, and beat it out of there—a different way than Yuuhei had showed him.

In return for the waiter's silence, Kasuka 'Yuuhei Hanejima' half-smiled at him as he paid. "You told him right, but—" the waiter commented, a little forlornly. He would have liked a little light shed on the situation. Refusing to comment, Yuuhei bowed, gravely. "_Doumo arigatou gozaimasu_," said the waiter in defeat, and handed Yuuhei the receipt, perhaps a bit late.


	10. Interlude 5

Interlude #5: Dollars Internet Chat

**Setton****: **Shizuo is fine. I know where he is, and he should be having fun.

**Bakyura: **Yeah, Setton! Good to hear! We can party!

**Tanaka Tarou:** We can do that any time, Bakyura. :-[

**Bakyura: **Good point! No one's stopping us!

**Tanaka Tarou: **Kind of a weird reason for a party though. Izaya is...?

**Setton: **_Probably_ fine. I'm going to have a talk with his housekeeper today.

* * *

_And then she would have more news. Of course, Celty did know he was at LME, with Shizuo, and so why wouldn't Izaya be fine? But she hadn't seen him yet, so anything could have happened._..

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Thanks, Setton, that was more than I needed to know...

**Setton: **Yes, well, she doesn't get out much. Price on her head.

**Bakyura: **I wouldn't think so, no. I've heard stuff too.

* * *

_I wonder what? I only knew stuff because Shinra's my boyfriend, and he worked for her company as underground doctor..._

* * *

**Setton: **And in other news, I'll be working for Tom.

**Tanaka Tarou: **What? Really? Don't you need to be _really strong_?

**Setton: **Are you doubting Ikebukuro's very own **Black Rider**?

**Tanaka Tarou: **Er...no. Is that who you are?

* * *

_Oh, shoot. She knew as soon as she hit "enter" that that had been a mistake. Who was going to believe her? Wait, did she want anyone to believe her?_

* * *

**Setton: **Yes.

**Bakyura:** What is this, the gossip column? Can people just claim that they are whoever?

**Tanaka Tarou: **Yeah, pretty much. *rolls eyes* Some things never change.

**Bakyura: **I thought you were going to reprimand us...for, oh, I dunno, libel or something.

**Tanaka Tarou: **Me? Never! Besides, just because no one can prove someone is telling the truth doesn't mean that they aren't. Have you seen anyone else claim to be the Black Rider?

—(Besides, libel is when you lie about someone else to make them look bad. Not about yourself.)

* * *

_Mikado really is smart. He left the door open._

_I wonder who thinks being the Black Rider is bad. The cops, certainly, but to be honest they know nothing about it. The yakuza probably hate me...but only if they've seen me. And then there was that time when Shinra's dad forced me to protect him out in the open, and that was quite dangerous..._

* * *

**Bakyura:** No, because they're not stupid.

**Tanaka Tarou:** Exactly. They'd have to be stupid to claim it when someone that powerful is _actually out there._

**Bakyura:** Maybe they're secure behind the safety of the internet.

**Tanaka Tarou:** Maybe so. But it's discourteous to take anything said here as absolute truth, or absolute lie. There's really very little evidence for anything we say around here. That's why this chat is practically a gossip column.

—I thought about trying to change the way people thought about the chat, but eventually I realized that was easier said than done.

**Setton: **You'd be justified, Tanaka...

* * *

_He really, really, really left the door open._

_It's a really interesting idea, changing the culture of the Dollars. And that's exactly our problem right now. The Yellow Scarves/Dollars war proved that._

_I like it the way it is now, but at the same time, I'm struggling to see how the promise of the Dollars will be carried out by Mikado. It's hard to stay active with nothing going on. I know he has plans, but he's struggling to take them off the ground._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Yes, but just at the moment I don't know how to change the culture of the chat. If it can even be done.

—Sorry to bring up a dead topic, but how's Tom doing?

**Setton: **Very well. The tenants are getting a bit rowdy, but at least the new enforcer isn't going too far a little too often all the time...? It's going to be hard to convince them that I'm just as hard a sell as Shizuo.

**Tanaka Tarou: **So you're _better_ than the strongest man in Ikebukuro.

**Setton: **Technically, yes. Although I think Tom misses working with a guy. *laughs nervously* He keeps apologizing for his language, ha ha. Such a gentleman. Although I heard the same stuff from Shizuo all the time...

**Bakyura: **Maybe he likes you?

**Setton: **Nah, he knows I've got a fiancée. That's just the way he is, I've seen him act that way with other people, too.

**Bakyura: **Setton! That's news to me!

**Setton: **Well, I'm not telling _who_.

* * *

_At least she could learn from her mistakes. Be careful with identities._

* * *

**Bakyura: **Awwww!

**Setton: **_So _sorry. *not*

**Bakyura: ***sniffs*

**Tanaka Tarou: **Haven't you already got a girlfriend, Bakyura? I can call...

**Bakyura: **A guy can dream, can't he?

**Tanaka Tarou:** Shut up. You're not being serious, and what's funny about disrespecting women?

**Setton:** Seconded.

**Bakyura: **... You're right, that conversation was over already.

—Sorry.

* * *

_Bakyura—Celty was pretty sure he was the Yellow Scarves' former leader, Masaomi—was, frankly, a high schooler. Celty didn't really get it, but she'd often seen him trying to hit on women who were totally out of his league. In fact, he seemed determined to seek out women who were out of his league. As if he was looking forward to being turned down, or the whole thing was just a gigantic cosmic joke that was designed to alleviate...somebody's boredom, whether it was Masaomi's or the little old lady or the flower shop attendant or the girls in the butler café or whatever._

_She didn't approve, of course, but at least she knew that Masaomi wasn't serious. It was still way too often when she had seen the joke go too far. She knew his life was undergoing major change—well, perhaps this was a symptom of failing to cope with it... He didn't usually joke about the same sort of thing for long. Masaomi was too capricious for that._

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou: **Just to be clear. Whatever. Now, what do we do next?

**Bakyura: **The radioactive bunny girl costume fell apart before I could send it.

* * *

_Oh, that again?_

* * *

**Tanaka Tarou:** Somehow I doubt that (*^*) No indeed, you didn't even finish it, did you?* \ / VICTORY! \ /

**Bakyura: **Tanaka, stop being such a smart aleck.

**Tanaka** **Tarou**: Yes, as soon as you stop being a dork.

—Oh dear, I think the boards are irritable today *looks at the sky of code*

**Bakyura: **Ah! Oh! Ah! What! Tanaka, what did you do?

**Tanaka Tarou: **It'll sort itself out in an hour or two.

**Bakyura: **Random...beeping...noises? You! Bleeping bleeper bleep!

**Tanaka Tarou: **I *_am*_ Mod, you know. Hear me roar. Er, _bleep_.

**Bakyura: **This isn't funny!

**Tanaka Tarou: **Uh-huh. Fine, I admit that my revenge was a bit late... *tee-hee*

* * *

_Can hacking really do that...? You know, I don't really want to know... Masaomi, you goof!_

* * *

**Setton:** Goodnight, all. Tanaka, I'm still thinking about the radiation symbol thing... and let me know if you have any ideas about chat culture. It's simply fascinating.


	11. Chapter 5

_Characters: Kyoko Mogami, Izaya Orihara, Kanae "Moko" Kotonami, Celty Sturluson, Shizuo Heiwajima, Maria Takarada, Namie Yagiri_

Chapter Five: In Which Everyone Acts Like Themselves and Hopes for the Best, Except Maybe Izaya

"I remember those days," said Kyoko sullenly as she watched fleet-footed Izaya leap to and fro with mop in one hand, water bucket in the other, scrubbing the hall floor. He still did all the chores, and stayed positively gleeful.

"I'll bet he doesn't wax and polish the floor too hard, either," said Moko, equally gloomy. "Took you ages to get that right. They'll put us to work soon."

"It's not like that's any more than we deserve, though. We've been lax. It's been nice," said Kyoko wistfully. "And then this slump without any acting work turned up..."

"Deserve? Totally! Absolutely! We've been in this section for a whole _three-fourths_ of a _year _now!"

"Moko-chan, if you complain loudly, karma—" Kyoko stopped herself, then whispered, "No, worse, I mean, President Lory—"

"Ah, sorry. That was sarcasm." Moko wasn't that good at sarcastic remarks—she'd been practicing, to increase her actors' repertoire—but Kyoko was terrible at parsing it. Moko should have remembered.

"_Sou, _...was it?" Kyoko's voice dwindled as she started daydreaming again.

"Clearly we don't deserve anything with our seniority level, Kyoko. Mind you, it's easier now than it was three-quarters of a year ago. We scraped up all the five-thousand-year old gum before he got to it," said Moko, not really expecting Kyoko to listen.

Kyoko nodded her head. "Mm-hmmm..."

Moko sighed. At times like these, the fairy-tale lenses of Kyoko's brand of rose-tinted glasses became oddly and impenetrably thick. Better than black magic, though. She spoke the first thing that popped into her head. "Do you really believe that the LoveMe section is cursed, Kyoko?"

"Eh? What?" Kyoko popped out of her daydream.

No sooner had Moko spoken than she realized that the thought was still half-formed. Never mind. She could ask later. "We should look busy," Moko muttered, and strode down the hall. Kyoko agreed, and followed after.

* * *

"Here's the letter. Thank you, Celty."

Celty waved off Shizuo's thanks with one hand, not bothering to type out her feelings.

The corners of Shizuo's mouth tipped up to show his appreciation anyway.

Ah, you could never win. Celty gunned the engine and hunched forward, about to drive off, but Shizuo laid a hand on her shoulder. She cut the power and turned to Shizuo expectantly.

Shizuo wasn't wearing his blue-tinted glasses this morning. His golden-brown eyes, staring as straightly at her as he could manage without eyes to go by, glimmered with sincerity, and a little anxiety. "Celty, I didn't know how to say this last night. I'm sorry, I almost forgot; I was very tired, and thinking about so many things—it takes me a while to recover from airplanes." Celty nodded for him to go on.

He hesitated. "It was something Izaya said. He probably meant for me to hear, but he hinted strongly that he knew where your head was. That he was keeping it."

**Surely it's another scheme of his.**

"Maybe." Shizuo shrugged. "But I had to tell you. Personally, I think he's just casting around for some action and he doesn't have a plan for it. You still want it back, right?"

**Yes. Yes, I do.**

"Okay." Shizuo's eyes leveled, and focused in intent. "And you're going to check it out. Please be careful."

**Thanks. I will.**

Shizuo looked away awkwardly. "It wasn't that I did think you would be. I just..."

Celty patted his arm. **I know. You're sweet when you worry.** **I'm not offended. **She watched in amusement as Shizuo stepped back and donned his shades with slightly tremulous hands to mask his embarrassment. **Anyhow, I know you wish you could have told me something more certain. It can't be helped, now, can it?**

"No, I suppose not," he said roughly. "Will Shinra be okay with this?"

Briefly, streaks and coils of black lashed into the sky before disappearing, beautifully sculpting the form of her anxiety. **No, but he knew this could happen. We'll work it out. Thanks for everything**, she repeated.

She drove away.

* * *

Kyoko received the remains of her Izaya doll in the mail, as Tsuruga's schedule quickly became too busy to return it to her in person. In fact, she'd already finished one doll of him by the time she got the unfinished remains of the other one back. It was rather humorous. She found she had to remove the remains of his costume that she had started on before she could put on another outfit.

Maria-chan intercepted her during a lunch break. "Whatcha doing, _onee-sama_?"

"Sewing. It's a doll of Orihara Izaya. See?" Kyoko showed her.

"Who's that?"

"Aaah..." For a moment Kyoko was dumbstruck. "Haven't you been down to LME at all ... recently?"

"No! _Ojiisan_ took me to see Papa. On an airplane. It was scary. I burned thirteen candles the night before I left praying about the trip." Maria smiled innocently.

That caught Kyoko's attention. "Thirteen, huh?" _Isn't that an unlucky number?_ "Any ... particular reason?"

"What? You don't see?" Maria giggled and spun around in a circle. Then she slapped the table and intoned with a look of complete horror, leaning heavily on the table. "_IF _I could survive_ ONE FLIGHT _with enough_ BAD LUCK _packed on it_, _I could surely_ TRUST MY LIFE _to an airplane_ ANYTIME._" The table lurched and Maria almost lost her balance, and Kyoko reached forward to help a little too late, but somehow Maria managed to pull herself upright and steady the table at once.

"Really, Maria-chan, you didn't have to go that far—" Kyoko's reassuring smile was getting a little strained. She held up her hands to ward off more worry.

"Well, it's all right now, isn't it?" Maria grinned brightly. "Nothing happened at all. I'll never have to do _THAT _ever again_. _I saw Papa, and I got to see his work, and we talked _every day_ and he bought me presents and we went to dinner..."

"That's good, Maria-chan," said Kyoko, and wiped her brow in relief. "I am so happy for you!"

Maria waved off the niceties. "So what happened, _oneesan_?" Maria knelt on a chair, leaned her elbows on the table, and waited, hanging on Kyoko's next words.

"Oh, some boys joined the LoveMe section," said Kyoko reluctantly. Her news had suddenly become much less important.

But Maria-chan didn't see it that way. "Boys? Uwaaah! Why'd they go and do that? The uniforms are _piiiiiinkkkkkk_!"

Kyoko sighed. "_Shocking_ pink. I don't know, Maria-chan. Their names are Izaya Orihara and Shizuo Heiwajima."

"Oh, I see. What do they look like?"

Kyoko propped up the finished Izaya doll on her water glass, in the pink shiny canvas suit. "Orihara looks like he's in his early twenties. He has short, heavy black hair, which hasn't been cut in a while because the ends are uneven. His smiles are unsettling, because he always looks like he's mocking you. And when he's not in his uniform, he wears black, black, black. And yet somehow he always nows how to charm someone."

"Sounds creepy," said Maria. "And the other one?"

"Heiwajima-san hasn't been around as much. He reminds me a little of Sho—it must be the fact that he's tall, and has blonde hair—yet I'm not afraid of him as much as I am of Orihara. In fact... he reminds me a little of Tsuruga-san. Isn't that strange?"

"Not at all," said Maria. "You have good instincts."

"I doubt it," said Kyoko, absently.

"No, it's true," Maria said earnestly. "You understood about me almost as soon as we met, _oneesan_. Hey? Could you take me to meet Shizuo-kun? _Ojiisan_ seems to like him, too."

"I thought you said you didn't know about them yet."

Maria said, "I didn't, but _ojiisan_ said Heiwajima-san's name. He's Yuuhei's brother."

"I don't think I've heard of him."

"No, but you'll know him as soon as you see him, I'm sure of it," Maria said confidently. "I think you should talk to him anyway. It would be interesting, and he might have more to say about Izaya, don't you think?"

"I suppose. He did say something about Izaya forcing him to come to LME as a torture session, or something..."

"You see, they know each other already."

Kyoko nodded. "I forgot that; thanks, Maria-chan."

"Why don't we go out and find him now?" Maria suggested.

"Are you sure...?"

"_Oneesama!_ Be honest! I thought you didn't think like that." Maria frowned at Kyoko. "Yes, I'm sure. You're the one who's hesitant!"

"I'm sorry. That's just how I feel right now. But if you're sure you think it's a good idea for us to talk to him, then let's go," Kyoko replied, but took Maria's hand.

"_Un._ Let's go!" said Maria, and Kyoko pitched the sewing mess and the Izaya doll back into her purse, and Maria took her by the hand and ran off. Then it occurred to Kyoko to wonder how Maria knew where to take her. Maria slowed a little and smiled confidently. "I always know where the actors are. It's a talent."

Sure enough, Maria led her to roof, where Shizuo was standing and...thinking. Smoking. They stepped out of the elevator. Kyoko's stomach clenched, and she almost took a step back.

Maria looked at her. "It's okay, you know. Tsuruga-san said so. He told me to look after you." She grinned brightly.

Being looked after by a nine-year-old child. Kyoko laughed, but then, she knew Maria was perfectly serious, and older than her years. "He did? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Hee hee hee. He was busy. He came with _ojiisan_ to pick me up from the Airport. Papa has been working with Tsuruga-san's father, you see," said Maria-chan, and twirled.

"Tsuruga-san's father came with you?"

"Hmm, I wonder what kind of person he is." She thought, just standing there, so Maria poked Kyoko and pulled her forward.

"Um, hello. Heiwajima-san." Kyoko waved, even though he couldn't see her.

Shizuo half-turned, a cigarette in one hand. Kyoko bowed, and he bowed back. "Hey. Mogami Kyoko, right?"

"Yes," said Kyoko. "Maria-chan wanted to meet you."

Maria whipped her head around and glared at Kyoko. Kyoko mouthed silently, _Act for me, okay?_ Maria quickly reverted back to form. "Good afternoon," she said, and bowed.

Shizuo nodded back, and Maria looked back up to Kyoko. Then Maria said, "The truth is, Kyoko wanted to ask you some questions. She's been worried lately."

"_Maria_," Kyoko hissed.

But Shizuo didn't look angry. He cocked his head.

And to Maria's surprise, Kyoko asked her question without further prompting and only a little bit of a dry mouth. "Er. What I wanted to say was— When you came...that night you signed on to work with LME..." Kyoko trailed off, then caught up with her thoughts again. "You said something. Something like that Izaya was ... torturing ... you when he brought you here?"

Shizuo sighed. "Probably. Only in a matter or speaking, of course." He put the cigarette to his lips, and blew smoke.

"But don't you want to be here?" asked Kyoko in confusion. "Isn't Izaya your friend?"

He laughed shortly, and turned away. He leaned on the railing and gazed out at the city below. "Do I indeed? I don't know. I'm here now, but I shan't stay long."

"Then why..." Kyoko faltered.

"As for why I stayed on so far, my brother works here. My friends who know me well say that I should make the most of the opportunity that Izaya created for me. And Lory Takarada's philosophy is fascinating." Shizuo looked at Kyoko over his shoulder. "Izaya dragged me here. I would like to say it was against my will, but unfortunately, Izaya knows me too well. I came to have an argument with the president, not to get hired."

Kyoko blinked. "An argument?"

"Takarada-sama worked me around. I told him that I hated the concept of LME, and he just talked at me until, despite my better judgment, I saw its worth." He laughed again, under his breath. "I thought the love he promoted was fake. But I see now that he was right, and I was wrong. I was deceived by appearances. It's a good company," he admitted, after taking a breath.

"I see. Come to think of it, Lory talked me around too." Kyoko was quiet. "But I still do not understand you and Orihara-san. As things are now, I can't trust him. I do not know if I can trust you."

Shizuo put the cigarette to his lips, and then lowered it. "Mogami-san, I hope you'll forgive me."

"Why?"

"For sharing bad memories," said Shizuo, and snuffed out the cigarette by swiping it on his boot, and ground it into the rough cement roof under his heel. "There's bad blood between us. It's been that way since the beginning. Izaya tried to kill me, and frame me, and trap me. In return, I've done my best to get him back. But he always escapes, and I always get run over by a truck."

"Really?" said Kyoko, gulping. _He called him Izaya._

"Really. Thrice now," said Shizuo, unsmiling. "By truck."

More than anything, that convinced her that what he said was true. She rushed to say, "But if you can't stand each other, then why—"

He stopped her. If he hadn't known a little of her past history from studying her file, he wouldn't have known what to say next. "Mogami-san. What do you think when you think of Sho Fuwa?"

She turned to stone, feet rooted to the floor. Her face darkened. "I hate him. I'd — I'd still curse him halfway to hell if I knew it would do any good. Even so ... I have to work to keep my hate of him from becoming the center of my world."

"And yet. You worked with him on the angel promotion clip."

"Yes. I did," said Kyoko. "It was one of the hardest things I have ever done." Her chin dropped, and her gaze fell to the ground.

"My name is Heiwajima Shizuo. It means 'peaceful island, quiet man.' In my life I have never been much like my name: if anything, I proved its opposite. It is a well-known fact in Ikebukuro that I am strong, and that I lack the self-control to manage my fury. I have never been content with that." He looked at her. "Are _you_?"

"Yes, exactly." Kyoko looked up. "In the end, I wanted to be more than what Sho expected me to be. I wanted to surpass myself, and become an actor in more than name."

"Izaya is my rival," said Shizuo. "It's a fact that can't be undone, at this point. I didn't mean to follow him here, to this place—but now that I have decided to make myself at home here, I will not leave until I have found my purpose. I will not chase after ghosts of the past to have revenge on his terms. That is why I am here."

"Yes, I see," said Kyoko softly. _He came in spite of Izaya, not because of him. He wants to get away from him, but he is too proud to run. I wonder why I never wanted to run from Sho? I guess I was too angry. I wanted him to say that he wanted me back, if only so that I could throw his words back in his face and taste revenge. But if not for Sho, I wouldn't have found my calling. So we put our grudges on hold, and we do the work that our spirits needed to heal, despite our hate._

"Well, after hours it's a different story," said Shizuo, in a slightly different tone, with a yellow light in his eyes. "But I can't go around throwing vending machines or street signs on LME property while I'm on the job. That's the code I set for myself."

_Vending machines?_ To mention it so casually...he must be _extraordinarily_ strong. "Good luck," said Kyoko, extending her hand in the Western manner of greeting.

Shizuo shook it. "And you as well."

As their hands fell apart, Kyoko remembered something. "Heiwajima-san."

"Call me Shizuo."

"Shizuo-kun," Kyoko tried.

"Acceptable. Yes?"

"How did you know about Sho and I?" she said softly.

He smiled slightly. "The rumor mill. Takarada-sama is talkative. He has high hopes," said Shizuo, opaquely. To his relief, Kyoko accepted it. Perhaps she was relieved that someone hadn't misunderstood their relationship, like Sawara-san had.

She looked down. "It will feel strange if you keep calling me Mogami-san. Calling me Kyoko is fine."

"Kyoko-chan, then."

"Nice to meet you," said Maria, and Kyoko and Shizuo both looked at her, having forgotten that she was there, left clinging to Kyoko's uniform while they had been talking.

Shizuo replied slowly, "Nice to meet you, too. Shall we go back to work?"

"Yes," said Maria, a little more subdued. For the first time in a while, she felt chagrin for making herself noticed. After the awkward beginning, she knew they hadn't really wanted her there. "Let's."

* * *

Back in Ikebukuro, Celty stopped by Izaya's old apartment, which appeared dark and deserted, but wasn't. Celty knocked on the door. Now that she was here, and searching, she could sense the presence of her head even from outside the apartment. Shizuo had been right. After a couple of seconds, Namie came and opened it, her face unreadable.

**Namie, is there any work from Izaya?**

Namie shook her head. "No, I'm sorry." She hesitated, and then said, "Come in."

**You know, I've never been in here before**, Celty typed, and stepped over the threshold.

"Yes," said Namie. "I suppose you must know by now that Izaya took care to make that so."

Celty took off her yellow cat helmet. **Are you lonely, without your company?**

"I never had strong relationships with anyone to begin with," said Namie.

**I see. Shinra never talks about work, either.**

They took off their shoes and entered the house. Namie crossed the room and sat on the couch, and resumed sorting laundry, then stopped, remembering her manners. "Would you like some tea? Sit down."

**Yes, thank you.** Celty sat in Izaya's TV chair.

Namie got up again. "I used to be ... in possession of your head. For quite a long time. It was an heirloom of my father's, who kept close to Shinra's father." Namie poured water into a kettle, placed it on the gas stove, and turned on the fire. She was too far away to see whatever Celty typed into her cell phone. "And then my brother Seiji became obsessed with it. Izaya told me you chased down the girl whose face I reconstructed to match your head's in the park last summer. That must have been a disappointment."

Celty's neck relased a great gust of black smoke that passed for a sigh. That it had been. **So how did the head fall from your hands?** Namie jumped. Somehow, Celty had connected her words to the screen of the TV.

"My company was bought by a 'foreign investor,' " said Namie. "Then I was out of a job. The investor was more wily than I thought he was. Then it turned out he wasn't quite foreign at all, but an old friend of mine who realized that I had brought more attention on myself than was wise. He took the head, and me with it." She laughed bitterly. "The head is here, in this house." Namie nodded to the bookshelf.

Celty looked. The black smoke rising from her neck swirled.

"Won't you touch it?" asked Namie.

**I see. The trace is very faint. No wonder I was confused. I knew it was here, there's a very general signal that told me it would be in this district of Tokyo, but it's only when I am particularly focused in it's direction that I know exactly—**

"Yes. I don't know why, but that must have been part of why you were more attracted to _that_ girl's head than to your very own," said Namie, sounding tired. "You've been here before, just not inside."

**I was distracted. I see it now.** Celty crossed to the bookshelf, and took the glass jar down. **It is so very beautiful. Is this really me? Truly, Mika's new face is almost identical to this.**

Namie said guardedly, "I believe it fits. A beautiful head for a beautiful body." Her compliment was sincere and solemn.

**I wonder if Shinra would agree.** **He didn't want me to find my head because he worries that my old memories will give me a different purpose.** **Maybe he would change his mind if he saw it for himself.**

"Yes." The tea had boiled. Namie poured two cups, and took them to Celty. Absently, Celty took hers. "The body has its memories, I'm sure, but the head probably has more, of a different kind. When I learned what you were — last summer — I often thought to tell you of it, but the subject was too close to home, with Seiji-san and his girlfriend on the loose. Someone always had their eye on me. Then Izaya took me, and he had plans for it. So I decided to wait. I'm sorry the word is so late."

**I forgive you. If I can forgive Shinra for lying about the head, for hiding Saika, for dissecting me in the name of science, and all of his father's pettiness over the years, I can forgive you. I'm just glad you had the courage to make things right.** A puff of chuckling black smoke escaped from her neck. **And honestly, you probably saved Shinra and I quite a lot of drama by waiting...**

"You're welcome," Namie said curtly. "I had no idea you had been through so much. But I'm not sure that it means much. I have nothing to lose, and I am quite bored. I also would like my revenge on Izaya. I believe this makes us even?"

**Yes, at the very least, we're even. **Celty laughed, and the smoke rising from her neck made rings. **And yet, it really means everything to me. **She laughed again. **Can we be friends?**

"Are you... quite sure?" Namie peered at Celty over the top of her cup of tea.

**Absolutely. I have an impulse about these things. You seem like an honorable woman, and I **_**am**_** a free spirit.**

"Not so honorable," said Namie, swishing the dregs of her tea in her cup. "I— I can't promise that I won't stay out of the underground, and end up sucking you and Shinra into some wild scheme... Especially as attached to Izaya as I am..." she trailed off.

**You have **_**rules**_** that you don't cross****, that's all that it means to be honorable. **Celty waved away her concerns. **The head was a fluke. The opportunity to study and tamper with it practically dropped into your lap. If anything, it is I who unwittingly changed the fates of Shinra, yourself, your brother, and Mika Harima through my carelessness. I apologize.** Celty stood. **Here's the real question. Are you ready to go forward with your life without something extraordinary to research?**

Namie narrowed her eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean."

**Magic. Extraterrestrials. The strange and the unusual. That which is not ordinary. Are you ready to resign yourself to becoming a **_**normal**_** scientist?**

Namie said, "I had not thought of that."

Celty expelled a cloud of smoke, so very thick, dark, and fast that it covered the living room ceiling before dissipating in the space of a breath. **You've tasted the irresistible beauty of the otherworld. Somehow I doubt that you will live satisfied until you come in contact with something that intrigues and puzzles you into feeling compelled to explain it.**

Rather than trying to deny it, Namie lowered her cup of tea and admitted, "I expect you're right. You're asking where I shall start."

**I'm not giving you back my head,** Celty warned.

Namie coughed. "I wouldn't expect you to in a million years."

**But surely you're not happy with Izaya. You have too much ambition.**

"It has its moments," Namie allowed, but she crossed her arms and said nothing more, as if struggling with herself over something. She unclasped her arms, leaned back with a thump, and crossed her legs instead.

Celty turned; rather than conveying her words through the cell-phone, she dispensed with that and used a trail of smoke to write directly on the television, scrub her message, and write down the next line of speech.

**You and Shinra are alike. You need something to study that will capture your interest, with which you can persuade others to take an interest alongside you and fund your 'selfish' researches.** **You don't really intend to enmesh yourselves in the underworld, but that **_**is**_** the habitat of the rare and unknown. So, you are drawn in.**

**You wish you could be recognized for your achievements, but your most interesting work is in magic. People will dismiss your work out of hand, but the very subjects that would bring you credibility are boring to you. In the end, accreditation matters not one whit. Likewise, contributing to the benefit of humanity would be nice, but hardly an ultimate goal. What will you do, Namie?**

"Probably create another lab," said Namie. "It will take time, but I have done it before."

**B****ut you must have some idea of what to study.**

"That kind of thinking can't be rushed," Namie said with a slow smile.

**I don't doubt it, but I wanted to make sure that your days would not be wasted while you remain under Izaya's roof.**

"I don't see why you care, but I would not have it so. Although I admit that I have begun to tire of my own idleness of late. From now on, I shall be purposeful during my stay here." Namie rubbed her wrist. "Although you might not believe it, recently Izaya has been pushing me to do the same."

**Ah, so we do agree about some things. Like keeping people busy.** Celty flung out one arm, and inscribed a lazy circle with her hand: _well, it happens._

"Seems so," said Namie dryly, and drank down the rest of her tea. "Celty, if you don't mind, I would like to see what happens when you come in contact with the head." She tapped one foot meaningfully. "Especially before Izaya comes home."

**I could never forget. Don't worry.** Celty crossed to the bookcase, leaning back to look up. **I am merely delaying the inevitable.** Namie sucked in her breath as Celty reached behind the books, and pulled down the jar, and stared into its eyes.

Slowly, slowly, the eyes opened, fluttering because of the sloshing of the aqua liquid in the jar.

Namie made a small choked sound in her throat.

Celty's hands shook, and she crossed quickly to the table to set down the jar. Again and again, waves of wide, wheeling black clouds rolled from her shoulders, leaving a thin thread of black trailing between each one. It was the closest she could come to taking deep breaths.

"Are you frightened?" asked Namie.

A tongue of shadow licked the TV screen, leaving the words, **Who wouldn't be, in my place?** **I need a moment.**

Namie smoothed her skirt, crossed her arms, and rested her back against the kitchen counter to wait.

A moment later, the head lowered its eyes, then flashed them open; as if this was her signal, Celty plunged her hands into the liquid, clasped the head firmly behind the jaws, and lifted.

There was a flash of white, then total blackout.

Celty had only to touch the glass, and she felt the consciousness of her head touch hers. Tentatively, delicately as a butterfly, but the sensation was powerful and heady. It was as she thought: they were one, and meant to be together, and nearly a hundred years of separation made no difference.

She gulped, watching the eyes. She knew. They were both ready. Celty plunged her hands into the jar, and gasped as their minds overlapped, overlayed, came so close as to be identical, but not in sync—it was dizzying—almost like it was swimming under her thoughts, and trying to breach the waterline, only_ just so_— She clasped the head, and lifted it from the water...

_Bam._ The head's consciousness exploded within Celty's body, taking control, melding with Celty's new memories, merging every thought, every movement, every cell into its care and above all, _becoming one_.

Celty opened her eyes. The room was dark, completely black. It whirled strangely before her eyes, until she realized that the movement was due to the fumbling of her hands. She stopped, and the picture grew still.

"Namie?" She could speak!

"Celty? Is that you?"

"Yes," Celty said hoarsely. "What happened?"

"The power went out," said Namie. "I guess we can assume that was your fault."

Celty turned, and her elbow knocked into the glass jar, which hit the ground and shattered.

"What was that?" said Namie.

"The glass jar. Don't worry, I'll clean it up..." Celty closed her eyes in her head, still holding her head in her hands, and had to make an effort to "see" the world through her smoke. She scooped up the shards and tied off the strand of smoke, making a floating sphere, floated it over the trash can (Namie flipped the top for her) and dumped out the contents.

She remembered the time when she made dinner for Shinra and wrapped it up before he could eat it, just like this, and giggled—the sound came out through her head. Such a simple act created a terribly unnerving situation—the smoke blossomed from her neck as usual, but her head was moving in her hands—warm, heavy, organic, soft, squishy, and _ever_ so tacky from the aqua liquid soaking. Namie's face reflected Celty's squeamishness. "This will take getting used to," said Celty ruefully. **On the other hand I should just use my smoke-messages until I get home. I don't want to have an accident...**

Namie chuckled behind her curled fingers. "I suppose you can see yourself out." Namie blinked, heard what she just said, and stuffed her knuckles in her mouth before she properly visualized it happening. The picture came anyway. Namie felt like vomiting.

"Are you okay?" said Celty's head.

Namie shook her head and stared at the wall instead of looking at Celty, and muttered, "Please, just go. It's my over-active imagination..."

"I see. Call me if you want updates on my condition, for scientific reasons," said Celty's head.

"Will do," Namie managed, and clapped her hands over her mouth. When Celty let the door shut, she ran to the kitchen sink and vomited, and immediately turned on the water to wash out the disgusting substance… She was glad she'd done a good deed today, but now she just felt terrible.

Namie decided she still owed something to Izaya. She would take him out for pizza. Well, really, she didn't want to use the sink to make dinner, not for a day or two, at least... He probably would be so tired when he finally got home that he wouldn't notice the missing head.

By some miracle, Celty managed to drive home, head safely tucked in her yellow cat-helmet, without crashing; but she was fairly sure that was partly because her near-sentient motorcycle steed was simply _marvelous_ and wouldn't let her fall, alert to her more fragile condition. She was quite thankful not to run into the police on the way home. When her bike was safely parked in the garage, she praised it attentively until its engine rumbled and purred with contentment. Then she went back to the apartment she lived in with Shinra, bracing herself for the scene that would follow.


	12. Chapter 6

_Characters: Celty Sturluson, Shinra Kishitani, Izaya Orihara, Namie Yagiri, President Lory Takarada, Shizuo Heiwajima, Maria Takarada_

Chapter Six: In Which People Continue with Life, As Best They Can, And Have a Good Cry

"_Tadaima! _I'm home!" Celty called through her head, and Shinra rounded the corner and said "_Okaerinas_—"

He stopped, stock still, and spilled his coffee over his hands. His eyes stood out to her, glazed and round like polished pebbles, lizardlike, through his glasses. He could have used a third eyelid. The whites of his eyes were going red from not blinking for too long. Finally, Shinra bit his lip, licked the spot with his tongue, and blinked. Somehow, although he had been eerily focused on her a moment before, he seemed to stare beyond her. Through her.

"Shinra, you're going to give yourself a headache," said Celty, through her head, intending to scold but her voice just came out a bit disappointed, uneasy, and wistful. There didn't seem to be any other way to say it.

Shinra's head made small, jerky, minute movements on his neck before finally his hands started to work—again, small, minute, jerky—and spilled coffee on his fingers again. This time he switched hands holding the coffee cup and absentmindedly wiped his fingers on white lab coat. His fingers left behind a wavering watercolored light brown streak.

That instantly sent Celty into alarm. Because Shinra _never_, never _ever_ dirtied his white lab coat, and his hands didn't shake even during the bloodiest, most brutal surgeries. Maybe especially then. He never even cringed. Celty's thoughts launched into overdrive. What if the coffee was hot? Was Shinra okay? What if something happened while she was gone? What did Shinra think? Why wasn't he speaking—no, why wasn't he shouting and screaming and crying and throwing a tantrum like she'd expected him to? That, at least, while annoying, she knew how to deal with...

She had to act. Now. Celty rushed forward, grabbed Shinra's hand, pulled him into the kitchen, dumped her head on the counter, thrust both of his hands under the cold tap, and turned on the faucet.

Shinra didn't make a sound, not even to say, _Celty, you ruined my coffee. Coffee is black! An unadulterated substance! What are you doing, adding more water?_

To which she would have replied, _Shut up, you idiot. How can you burn yourself and worry about your coffee? Honestly! And what's this about unadulterated substances? Coffee is tastefully polluted water!_ _You're lucky I was here to talk some sense into you! _And he would have... never mind.

But the real Shinra was right here. Finally, he gave the barest ghost of a chuckle, and said weakly, "Celty, the coffee wasn't that hot." His nasally voice made it sound like he was whining, but he wasn't. He didn't look at her.

Celty immediately shut off the tap. "Better safe than sorry," her head said, softly.

"Yes, of course you're right," said Shinra, squeezing his eyes shut. "Celty, your voice sounds just like your voice that I hear in my head. Oh, my gosh, that sounds so stupid—" he said, and then he clapped his wet hands over his ears and backed into the living room. "All this time..." he mumbled.

"Shinra—" Celty followed him, leaving her head behind, and sat down on the couch beside him. Shinra latched onto her side, and pressed his face into her shoulder. "Shinra…" she said again, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"Celty, don't you ever leave me again!" His voice was thick, as if the tears he wasn't shedding now had clogged his throat. "Don't tell me you came to say goodbye. Why did you do this? I thought we had agreed—"

Okay, now while he was inexplicably teary, this was what she was expecting. And she could put up with a little cuddling, since he seemed to need it. And maybe she also needed it.

So Celty concentrated on the black smoke, and willed it to carry her head to the shelf behind and above the couch. She had a feeling Shinra didn't want to see it just yet. Once safely perched there, she put her arms around him, and said quietly, "I said I wasn't worried anymore. That I would be accept my fate and not worry about what happened to it, and I would quit actively searching for it. That's all. But nobody knows the day or the time when they will die, do they? Well, neither do I, Shinra; there are still things that can kill me. But everyone wants that one little ounce more of control over our destinies. I'm no different. When Shizuo gave me the information I needed to find my head, I couldn't ignore it, could I?" Celty stroked his hair, and soothed him. "Not to mention, I've always wanted those memories back. They're a part of me."

"Shizuo-kun?" Shinra's fingers trembled clutching Celty's the back of her shadow-leather suit.

"Yes. Unexpectedly, he received a tip. He relayed it to me, and I followed up on it." Celty's fingers drifted down to caress his face. "I was so very, very close, the whole time. It was practically right in front of my eyes."

"I—I see." Shinra gulped.

"I had no idea you were this scared of what would happen, Shinra. I knew you were afraid, but…"

"It's not that—or, not just that," Shinra mumbled into her suit, then pulled his face out of Celty's embrace and looked at her…no, at the smoke. "Would you still have done it?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Don't…don't be…" Shinra sighed and pulled Celty close to him again. "It's all _my_ fault after all. Trying to keep you from finding it. And I always knew...you're your very own person."

"I love you, Shinra."

"I know. It's just hard." He closed his eyes. "I know I said, 'never leave me again,' and I meant that, but—" Celty put a finger to Shinra's lips, and stopped his words.

"Shhh. I know. I choose to stay."

"You mean it?"

"Silly boy. I love you more than ever."

"I don't understand."

Celty sighed. "My new memories that I found are all over loneliness. Can you imagine? Three hundred years of it. Alone...lonely...the same duties, all the time, and no real reason for why I did them, except instinct." Celty stroked Shinra's cheek once more with a tentacle of darkness. "I was innocent, and yet I was wise, but I could never know that about myself until the night my head was stolen. From that moment on, I had to think. I realized I had a self, something which I had always taken for granted. I could do what I pleased, like the humans, and have ambitions. In order to find my head, instinct was not enough. Because that happened, it will never be so again."

Where Shinra could not see it, Celty's head showed the beginnings of a smile. "So of course, without that loneliness to compare the feelings I have now to, it was only when I got my head back that I realized that these past twenty years were the best times of my life. How ironic. I'm afraid I took the companionship that I have for granted. Life was good—because of you, of course, but also, dare I admit it—your father, and Shizuo, and Izaya, and all the rest. Part of me is me, but I am also partly what you made me."

Shinra made a doubting noise.

"Well, a reaction to what you were trying to make me."

Shinra snorted behind his hand. "I'm not sure we were trying to do anything, Celty."

"Maybe not consciously." Celty shrugged. "Anyway, because the head never kept much personality to begin with, you needn't worry about it overwhelming what my body learned. Their consciousnesses are one and the same now. I never knew what I was missing, wandering Ireland's graveyards. What I mean to say is, even if they're sad, I'm glad I have the memories. How could I walk away from you after all that?"

"You're not…going back to Ireland, then?"

"Never. It may be beautiful, but just so you know — if I had wanted to leave, I would have left without a single goodbye. I couldn't bear to do it, otherwise. That itself, of course, is an indication that my body's memories are too strong." From its high perch on the bookshelf above them, Celty's head smiled tenderly. "Meeting you just once would convince me differently."

"Don't know about that. You're not the romantic type, but that sounds awfully..." Shinra straightened just enough to push the glasses up on his nose with his index finger. "Not that I don't believe it's true! So perhaps for a honeymoon, then?" Shinra said reluctantly. "I've always wanted to see it, anyway. But you'll stay in Japan with me? Forever?"

"What are you talking about, Shinra?"

"Well, you'll marry me, won't you? Celty?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

"Then we'll have our honeymoon in Ireland. So you can say your goodbyes. So you can show me what you loved about the country there."

A little nervously, Celty replied evenly, "That's a lovely idea, Shinra, but I believe you skipped a couple steps."

Shinra opened his eyes fully and burst out of Celty's hold. "Aaah! Omigod, I forgot the proposal! AAAAAH!"

"I'm not upset…" Celty's voice was tinged with bemusement.

"AAAAH! Celty, I'm SORRY!" Shinra clutched his head and turned around in circles. Then he shot across the living room and started searching frantically for a tiny box. He found it. "This!" He crossed the room again and slid to his knees in front of Celty, his eyes were desperately earnest and he had completely forgotten the stain on his white coat. He held out the box. "Celty, I love you, would you please marry me?"

"Shouldn't we wait until you're used to my head being around, first?"

Shinra finally leaned back to glance at the bookcase. Blushing, he put his eyes back on Celty's body on the couch. "That's exactly why I'm proposing! I can get used to it."

"_But_, and this is _not_ for the first time, Shinra, I'm afraid I don't understand you."

Shinra sighed. "You've got your head. I love you. You love me. Nothing, not your memories or your old attachments or anything, will come between us now. From now on, it's just the two of us. I'll get used to your head. Heck, I think I know _you're_ not used to having it back yet. Besides… we can wait on the ceremony as long as you like until we decide that we're both confident we're paying attention to it properly."

"Good point." Celty took the box, opened it, and took out the ring. "Then I accept. Thank you, Shinra."

"Ah, ah ah ah! Celty! Don't put it on yet!"

"What?" Feeling bewildered, Celty tried to think— she didn't notice anything wrong.

Shinra smiled apologetically, took the ring back, and slid it on her finger.

Celty giggled. "Well, if that's all…"

"Celty, I'd think you would know how these things go!" Shinra pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared intently at her, a bit indignantly. "Honestly! I want to make good memories together!"

"I know, but," Celty giggled again, "It would be an even better memory, seeing you get flustered. Besides, I think I would be alarmed if we ever approached something like Hollywood Kodak picture romantic sweetness..._blegh_."

"Oh, _Celty!_ You're so cruel, it breaks my heart all over again…!" Shinra swooned theatrically.

"There you go, being all dramatic. I swear, the only difference between you and your father is the barest smidgen of common sense and your respective opinions over Tokyo's conspiracy theories." Celty's head smirked, safe from high above. "And also, a sense of Chivalry."

Shinra grabbed the collar of Celty's leather suit to hiss, "And the mask. And the age." He let go.

"Details, details." Celty used her smoke again to lift her head into her lap. "Now, it's time the two of us started getting acquainted all over again. Don't you agree, Shinra?"

Shinra's stared into the head's eyes ardently. "Yes. I understand why Seiji Yagiri fell in love with just your head, now."

"I suppose imitation _is_ the greatest form of flattery," said Celty loftily. "And?"

"I was going to say this earlier, but your voice is just as beautiful. It befits you. It sounds like shadow and dry ice flaking into the air. Just like I heard—erm—_imagined_ it to be. I'll have to get used to that."

Celty's head frowned and her brows drew together. "Heard?"

Shinra coughed. "That's why you surprised me when you called out, and came home. Normally, that doesn't..."

"So you really heard...me. You weren't just reading my body language? You didn't need the texts at all?"

Shinra waved both hands quickly back at her, in negation. "No, no. They were useful. Of course they were. If anything, they helped my memory, because I still think best in print. And then, sometimes it was useful to know the difference between what you were thinking and what you actually told or asked me..."

Celty made a point of eyeing him slightly suspiciously. Shinra hopelessly grinned like a doofus. Finally, resigned, Celty said tartly, "I _thought_ you knew more about me than you should."

"Sorry," Shinra said in a small voice.

"Not your fault, except for _not telling me about it,_ but that's water under the bridge." Celty shook her head. She never did have the teeth to put the fear into Shinra, or to hold grudges. "I suppose what I've really been needing to ask is: is there anything about my head that makes you uncomfortable, that we can fix?"

"I'm not uncomfortable at all," Shinra lied. That was completely obvious.

"Forget it, Shinra. You've been doing well enough to fall in love with me without a head. Now that I've got it back, you don't need to get all macho and make things harder for yourself," Celty said in exasperation. "Please."

"Well — okay, there's one thing. I don't know it this is what you wanted to know, but... Look, with your head back, what I don't understand is where you want me to look — when we're talking," Shinra hedged. He had turned a peculiar color.

Celty hummed. "Hnn, I thought so. Look wherever you like."

Shinra turned pink, and his voice steadily climbed in pitch. "I know, I thought you'd say that, but I've become so used to (ahem) staring at your boobs (ahem) all these years… I don't think…" His voice cracked.

"Oh, is that where you've been looking all this time? Pervert!" Celty's head, safely resting on her lap, clicked her tongue but couldn't help smiling with indulgent amusement. It couldn't be helped, after all. "I _had_ been wondering where you focused to look at me so piercingly, when you hardly knew where my eyes were. Well, look at _me_, then, like a normal person! The head!"

"If you insist," Shinra sighed, pretending disappointment. "But that's even more confusing. Because your head isn't always where your body is, but my attention will be split between them… Or I'll forget..." He grimaced.

"I used to carry it under my arm," Celty reflected.

"I suppose that might work, but there's no way you can go out into the city like that. Is there some rule that says you can't re-attach your neck to your head?" said Shinra, a bit anxiously. When Celty didn't answer immediately, he added quickly, "Just checking."

But in her lap, after some thought, Celty's head nudged itself from side to side. "No. But what is severed won't reattach. It's rather like two magnets of the same poles, repelling each other. See?" Celty lifted her head to her neck, and demonstrated. Neck and head kept sliding away from each other, so that the head went up and sideways.

"Ahhh." Shinra frowned. "What if you made yourself a scarf of that black stuff? To keep your head from falling off?" This time, he turned a bit pale. "There'd be a gap, sure, but it needn't be large, should it?"

"That might work. I just can't think how…physically…"

"Or I could stitch your neck and head together," Shinra said doubtfully.

"Thank you, Shinra, that won't be necessary." Holding her head up, almost aligned over her neck, Celty rolled her eyes. "It sounds painful. I thought I was done with being scalpeled several years ago! Besides, being headless has its advantages. What's got into you?"

"An old Halloween story*," Shinra said quickly, and shuddered. "I guess it's okay if you don't die and I let you remove the scarf yourself," he muttered quickly under his breath. "I'm not touching it."

Celty made a confused noise.

He cleared his throat. "It's just an option. I didn't think scalpeling was the best idea anyway. Really." He frowned. "Oh wait, maybe the polarity is the problem? Maybe it actually is magnetic?..."

After a couple of experiments and some arguing back and forth, they went with the scarf idea and managed to come up with something that worked. Soon, for the very first time, Celty would be able to go out in the city without her helmet and pretend to be a normal person. She couldn't wait. What would she do with her newfound freedom?

* * *

Izaya came home. The door shut softly, with a click. Izaya threw himself down on the couch and addressed the ceiling. "Namie, was that who I thought it was?"

She nodded. "The Black Rider, herself."

"Did she take her head back?" Izaya passed his hand in front of his eyes. He hadn't expected this to happen so soon.

"I offered it," Namie said calmly. "We had a long chat," she added, a bit defensively.

"You offered it. Well, I should have known." Izaya got up again and paced the room, rubbing his eyes, before returning to the couch and sitting. He sighed. "Probably a good thing to get it out of this house. And now things will get interesting again."

"I'm not sorry."

"I never said you shouldn't be _sorry_. If I actually cared at all, which I would have a month ago, you would be on your knees apologizing right now. Your transgressions simply haven't interfered with my plans, so the matter is moot." Izaya waved a hand lazily. "You have lucky good timing, Namie."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Yes, it's a real motherffh—" Namie's eyes smoldered at him threateningly, and Izaya squelched the word. "You get the point?" he said weakly.

Namie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I do. Watch your language. Wait while I get you an aspirin. What were you doing today?" She went to the medicine cabinet and retrieved the proper pills.

"Painting."

Namie got a glass of water and picked up the pill in her other hand, and held them both out to Izaya. Izaya downed the pill in one gulp and returned the glass to Namie three-quarters full. Namie gave it back. "Yes, acrylics do that. I assume that's what you were using, at least. Drink the water, that helps too. You're dehydrated. Your lips are peeling."

"Mm." Izaya skimmed his bottom lip with his tongue. "Urgh, you're right. How un-a-_peeling_." He waggled his eyebrows, drank the water, and handed the glass back to Namie again.

"_That_ was a terrible pun." Namie handed it back.

"What now?" Izaya exclaimed, outraged.

"Put - _the glass_ - in the sink - _yourself_," Namie said as testily and clearly as she could.

"You're supposed to _spare_ me the manual labor, woman!" Izaya was joking, of course, but Namie wasn't in the mood to take it.

"Say that again and see where it gets you," Namie snapped. "Also, you do enough labor at work, I don't see why it should matter at home. It'll make you stronger."

"_Headache_, Namie!" Izaya hissed.

"Poor widdle thwi_iiing_." Namie pursed her lips.

"Shut up..." Izaya got up and put the glass in the sink. "You're a terrible nurse!"

Something brittle and bitter in Namie's heart snapped without warning. "Ah, but you forgot: I'm a right miracle doctor," Namie purred, and her lips curved in a cupid's bow smile. She stalked him to the sink, leaned into his personal space, and whispered in his ear, "Poor little Izaya, dear, you've never _seen_ my best bed-side manner. Nor the stunning array of my complete chemical arsenal... Tell me, I wonder how sick you would need to be to merit _all _of its use?"

E_yeuch. _Izaya slid sideways against the countertop, away from her. Dammit, Namie was taller than he was. Once safely far away enough, his black eyes wide and dilated with alarm, he hissed, "I don't trust you like this. The day show me your best bed-side manner, Namie, that's the day I'll leave this apartment and run for the hills just after checking to make sure you're not a Russian spy! I'm serious. Please tell me this is a joke..." He really was unnerved. His face had paled.

Victory. Namie 1, Izaya 0. And Namie had realized something. She liked verbally sparring with Izaya. It was actually kind of fun, and it gave her something to do. But right now, she was annoyed, and winning to make him lose wasn't enough—she wanted him in _pain_.

So she smiled and blew him a kiss with a schoolgirl's simper. When she spoke, though, she kept her voice carefully controlled, cold and adult. The contrast chilled Izaya to the bone. "Of course it was a joke, Izaya. I'm cruel when I care."

Despite himself, Izaya shivered. "You're supposed to be _cute_, not _cruel_," Izaya muttered, eyes on the floor. He was (albeit belatedly) turning red. "I repeat, you're a terrible nurse."

"Easy does it, Izaya." Namie smirked. "How does it feel to have your feelings toyed with, hmm?"

That pulled him out of his sulk. He raised his head, glittering eyes fixed and neck swaying like a serpent about to strike. "Nasty. Not funny," Izaya snapped. "Maybe you actually _are_ a Russian spy."

"As if. I'm terrible with languages. Unlike you, I haven't the slightest idea on how to communicate intelligently with Simon." Namie shrugged. "But if you can't take a joke, get out of the apartment."

"It's my apartment!"

"Precisely. Your apartment is Ikebukuro's lauded hidey-hole of pranksterdom, and you can't take a single comedy skit."

"It wasn't funny," Izaya repeated, eyes furious and on the floor again.

"Neither are your pranks. But I admit, my goal wasn't to make you laugh...it was to make you nervous. It's about power." Namie drew closer again, and stood over Izaya, shoulders back, chin level, feeling imperious and tall. "We both love power. It hurts very much to have it taken away...but as long as no one wins, we're both quite happy. You're just sore because you lost just now."

"I didn't lose anything. I don't remember entering any game." Izaya scowled. "You're just crushed because I implied that _you're my HOUSEKEEPER_, which you actually _ARE_! It's not sexist, it's not because you're a woman, it's because right now that's your _damn job_!" He winced and clutched his head.

"Yeah? Would you have offered it to me if I hadn't been a woman?" Namie shouted, and abruptly her voice ripped savagely. "As your candy-striper _nursie_?"

Izaya flinched. "There are lots of male nurses..." he murmured defensively, allowing himself to be distracted, running his fingers through his hair. Face flushing, he forced himself to look at Namie straight in the eyes, and swallowed hard. His hands convulsively gripped the counter behind him. "Look, I swear, I didn't mean _anything_— by it—! Not sexual, or predatory, or anything, you just jumped down my throat for no reason and you're not acting like yourself and my headache is getting worse and you're _FREAKING ME OUT_!" After this tirade, Izaya was breathing hard. In a more moderate tone, he hissed, "Namie, you just _brought me my PILLS_ and I was _play-acting whining_!" Izaya raked his hands through his hair and twisted his fingers in it as if he was barely holding himself back from screaming some more. He had one more thing he had to say, though, so he shouted, "I thought you could _tell_! I didn't mean to _insult_ you because you have a _freaking_ _DOCTORATE!_ _I should know that better than __ANYONE_!" Gradually, he shifted his hands to press flat on the sides of his head, and turned away from Namie, facing the counter. His posture slouched slightly—ashamed.

Izaya, honest. Honest Izaya, _honest_. When he was driven to the walls, he was truly a nicer guy than he let on. It was Namie's turn to stare at him...tears trickling from her eyes. Slowly, Namie's hands crept up to her face to cover them. She couldn't move. "_Izaya, I'm sorry,_" she whispered, and her voice strained.

"_I DON'T—even—CARE_," said Izaya, savage in his cold rage. Now he was the one who was hurt. His fingers flexed, pressing down on the cold tiles of the counter. He didn't turn around.

"_Izaya—_"

"GO!"

Namie fled.

She went to her room and cried. She'd been having fun, for a moment, but then it all went wrong. It wasn't even Izaya's fault. Where did that treacherously flirtatious personality even come from? Why couldn't she stop herself from hurting him? Why did she want to hurt him? Izaya wasn't as bad as she painted him. That was just her excuse. Yes, Ikebukuro suffered because of the criminal mastermind in its midst...it would go on and recover like cities do. But when it came to her—Izaya was as courteous as his nature allowed him to be. He sheathed his claws. Why hadn't she learned to do the same?

Maybe, the back of her mind whispered, because she hadn't realized she had them. How sharp the tips were. What scars they made. She couldn't remember the last time she had gotten this unreasonable and angry. Certainly never at Seiji...

Izaya had already told her he had forgiven her. Was she so afraid that he hadn't that she had to provoke him to prove that her suspicions were right? Worse, hadn't she given the head back to Celty partly to make him angry? That was twisted. And she had failed miserably.

Namie cried, and cried, and cried, and finally fell asleep.

* * *

At first he was too angry to do anything but grip the countertop and take deep breaths. When he was calm enough, he released the countertop and stood blankly in the center of the kitchen, listening to the refrigerator hum, which satisfyingly drowned out his thoughts.

Only then did Izaya become aware of the sobbing. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He walked up the stairs, and stopped outside her room, one hand on the door. He wanted to tell her not to cry, that everything was fine, that he had forgiven her and he understood why she had become provoked. He wanted to apologize.

No. It was best to give them both some distance. Later, he would do that. For now—let her cry herself out. Knowing his own sisters, Namie wouldn't thank him for the interruption. It would just make her more anxious. She hadn't properly mourned for the loss of her brother Seiji to another's heart, for her job, nor for her current position in the universe...for her loneliness...

Izaya ascended the stairs to his own room, and shut the door, and felt blood surge in his ears with every one of her sobs. At last Namie grew quiet, and he also fell asleep. After his nap, he woke to a wet nose, damp cheeks, and a subdued, quiet feeling of melancholy. Izaya glided through the rest of the day as if it were a warped dream; after staring at the blank TV for almost an hour, he got dinner for himself and closed all the curtains in the apartment before he went to bed. He hated taking naps. They made life...surreal. He hoped he wasn't getting sick.

These were his thoughts, and also his dreams: he made a girl cry. He made a girl cry. _He made a girl cry._

Even if she had deserved it...it...had never mattered so much before...

He knew what would make her upset. He knew it before he hired her, before he ousted her from her company, before everything. He didn't know how hard it would actually be, nor how invested in her happiness he would become when he made those decisions, and that meant that to a degree he shared her pain.

He had always thought it was stupid to inflict pain on oneself, but inflicting pain on Namie, he had to admit, intentionally or not—these days the effects really weren't that far different from self-sabotage.

Namie—she was such an educated, smart, resourceful, completely capable woman and she was used to being independent. It had to smart to have that taken away from her. He'd seen this coming—this was why he wanted her out of the house as much as possible—but he wondered if he could have done more to stop it. Of course she was going to get frustrated and fed up with her job, which was so low class. That in particular really rankled her. Izaya didn't want Namie resigned to this life, no; all he wanted was for her to learn from it and move on as quickly and painlessly as possible.

As for Izaya, it was true that sometimes he despaired of his manual, by-the-book, backbreaking work in the LoveMe section. But though he could predict how Namie would feel, and it seemed, had done so correctly, he couldn't quite empathize. He had learned long ago to be content with whatever he had to work with, and he could remember no other way of life.

* * *

"Shizuo-kun," Lory Takarada began. "Shizuo-kun, are you listening to me?" Takarada was pretending to be a pirate today. It was rather gothically "realistic." That is, completely fantastic—better than reality—but not eerily cartoony like Halloween costumes...

Shizuo snapped out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry?"

Lory sighed. "Please keep your thoughts together. We don't have much time, which is why I wasn't able to hold the spy debriefing earlier. I went to America with my granddaughter to take her to her father. She wouldn't go otherwise."

"Really?" Shizuo cocked his head. "Wouldn't that be ... Maria-chan?"

"Oh, you've met?"

"Not really. Or, sort of. I think she was trying to help Kyoko talk to me, and after she introduced us, Kyoko and I talked and she didn't say much. I think she was satisfied. I hope we didn't offend her ... we kind of forgot she was there, actually."

"Hmm." Lory stroked his beard. "Since it was for Kyoko's sake, I don't think she minds. She spoke favorably of you, Shizuo-kun, which is unusual for new members. She only really likes Ren Tsuruga and Kyoko, you see. Something about them speaking truth to her and not censoring it because of her age, or something."

"Huh," said Shizuo. "She probably won't get attached to me, then. I'm horrible with kids."

"I think Tsuruga and Kyoko would say the same."

"No, you don't understand," said Shizuo. "I'm the opposite. I never know what to say, and whatever I do manage to say turns out to be made of clichés and then I just feel horrible the entire time I'm speaking to them. I was such a rotten kid myself, I should be able to talk to them, but I just...I can't."

"At least you're aware of it. Would you like to practice?" Shizuo stared at Lory, frozen. Lory shrugged, and said, "Afterwards, with Maria-chan."

"Okay. Fine." _Why would that be helpful?_

"Consider it another job. Now, tell me what you learned."

Shizuo counted on his fingers. One. "Kyoko keeps Sho's parents as acquaintances of hers." Two. "Any specific relationship Tsuruga has with Sho is through Kyoko, except generally, because..." Three. "...Sho regards Tsuruga as his personal rival even if Tsuruga doesn't see it that way. I don't know how Tsuruga feels about it." Four. "Kyoko is also Sho's ex-girlfriend. They were childhood friends and went to middle school together. Judging from the timing, Sho dropped out of high school to pursue his career." Five. "It's more than likely that Kyoko did the same, but rather than pursue her own career, she was ... Sho's girlfriend. So who knows what happened then. They become Exes, and Kyoko swore she'd claim her revenge by climbing to the top of showbiz. Kyoko then joins LME, and meets Tsuruga Ren." Six. "However, Kyoko also told me that revenge is not her primary goal anymore. She realized making hate the center of her life wasn't worth it, and she actually likes acting."

"Thank you, Shizuo-kun. That clarifies things quite a bit." Lory sat back and steepled his fingers in thought.

"All I really did was find out that Kyoko was Sho's girlfriend," said Shizuo blankly. "I thought you knew most of this already. Are you sure this is all right?"

"Yes, but that _was_ the exact essential bit of information I couldn't get except by asking. You did well, Shizuo-kun."

"Thanks." Shizuo fidgeted. "What will you do now, President?"

"Nothing at all. I'm sure my actors can handle it. In fact, they probably already have." Lory waggled his eyebrows. "It does explain certain sets of incidents." He went silent. "I do hope Tsuruga won't try and get revenge on Sho on her behalf, although luckily I don't think that kind of action is in his nature. I understand that, unless provoked, Kyoko has pretty much given up that goal and has been concentrating on rebuilding her life. Tsuruga has been doing to his best to guide her in that direction already."

"So... what was the point of the exercise, if everything was fine anyway?"

"Didn't I tell you? I need to appear all-knowing, wise, and confident so my actors don't contradict me when I tell them to do things for their own good. Or intervene to save their skins. Because I'll be _right_, not guessing out of my hiney." Lory grinned. "Although I'm rarely wrong."

Shizuo snorted and rolled his eyes.

Lory looked at him fondly. "Do you know, I think you're the only one who isn't too cowed by my status as President to argue with me. Do me a favor and promise to tell me when I'm being stupid, no matter where you end up in life. In return, I'll forgive your chronic insubordination."

"Does that mean I can criticize your costumes?" said Shizuo snakily. "Because—"

Lory glared. "Not them. Everything _else_. The costumes are sacred!"

"Oh, I see." Shizuo crossed his arms. _Fat lot of good that does._

"Go play with Maria-chan. She's lurking nearby."

"Am I being paid for this?"

Lory crossed his arms and stared Shizuo down. Shizuo mirrored him right back. Lory pointed out of the room. "If you leave. Go on! Get!"

"Yessir."

* * *

"Good morning, Maria-chan. Your grandfather sent me in to talk to you," said Shizuo, a bit sourly.

Maria sniffed. "Do I have to babysit every recalcitrant actor during my home-school hours?" She put her head down and wrote busily.

"Sorry," said Shizuo, shrugging, and sat down with his legs criss-cross. "Do I look like I need to be babysat?"

Maria looked him over. He didn't look like he was in disgrace. "All right. Why were you really sent over?"

"To learn how to talk to young children, I suppose."

Maria snorted. "That's not a problem." Maria turned the worksheet over and started scribbling on the other side.

"I usually do. Have a problem."

"You're not having one now." Maria paused in the middle of her calculation.

"And why is that?" said Shizuo, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs, glaring at her.

"Because you're not treating me like a kid." Maria tossed her hair, trying to get it to fall back over her shoulder. "No, actually that's okay, it's being treated as a _child_ that gets to me. But don't worry."

Shizuo was confused. "Oh. But then I'm not doing my job properly?"

"Dolt." Maria stood to deliver a very soft karate chop to the top of his head. She sat down again and picked up her pencil. "It depends on what kind of adult you want to be. Listen, what section of LME are you in?"

"The LoveMe section."

"You're hopeless. What's your job type?"

"Stunts."

"Huh. I wonder what _o__jiisan_ is doing. Never mind. It's a common complaint, not being able to talk to children, but it's usually just not true. When do you have the most trouble?"

"At formal gatherings," Shizup answered.

Sounding bored, Maria said flatly, "That explains ninety percent of your awkwardness."

"Why?"

"Because the kid is awkward _too_, you big dolt!" Maria scowled. "Clearly you don't look down on children, you've just forgotten how to bridge the gap between your ages! And you ought to know better, because you've got more experience. They're waiting on you!"

"Is it better to have that particular problem?"

"If it were otherwise, I would say you're incurable." Maria sniffed.

Shizuo looked at her quizzically. "You talk back an awful lot, you know."

Maria shrugged. "At least it makes me easy to talk to. Comebacks come pretty quick when you're being argued with..."

"I see. So I should start an argument?"

"If you like. That's one way to do it, although you'll probably become the monkey's uncle. Especially if you get your way all the time." Maria concentrated briefly on one problem, and then started scribbling again. "You know—funny, loose cannon, and a strong personality. I don't advise tickling," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It's hard to get the adult back properly afterwards if they didn't know when to stop. But that would vary with the child. The point is, if you argue the wrong way, you could end up being seen as the _irresponsible_ adult."

"It wouldn't be far from the truth," said Shizuo.

Maria looked up from her paper and cocked her head. Then she shook her head. "No. It's not true."

"How can you tell?"

"A really irresponsible adult doesn't even realize it! They never see how silly they look. They never restrain themselves. They don't wrestle with their conscience, they just do what it feels good to do!" Maria shouted. "You knocked _o__jiisan_ into a swimming pool because he made you feel threatened and then you felt so sorry about it afterwards that you did the _dogeza_! Do you understand how much _shame_ we felt on his behalf for putting you in that position? We can't repay you for that! I don't know what more you could have done, but you could be a bit easier on yourself!" Maria's eyes sparkled with passion. "It was _entirely_ understandable!"

Shizuo sat back, chastened.

"Now, do you want to learn about how to talk to kids or not?" She shook her head sharply.

"I do. Go on, please," said Shizuo softly.

"Just get them talking. Find their interests. Talk about something that they might have seen recently. Talk about music. Invite them to look at something interesting. Ask them questions about their opinions on stuff. Make friendly banter." Maria scrubbed her eyes, and gripped her pencil. "That's all, really. Don't be afraid to break formality, especially to say something surprising."

"I see."

"Also because you're big, the rowdier kids would love to get the jump on you. So when you half get to know the kid, you can offer them rides, or wrestle a bit with them—two, three, or four kids on one adult is _totally_ fair—and if you're good at make-believe, even the shyer ones will help you make up a world or include you in theirs."

"I'm not, unfortunately, good at make-believe. And I'm too strong at wrestling to play with even that many kids. I threw your grandfather into the swimming pool, remember, and I can pick up vending machines like nobody's business."

"Really? That's a good point." Maria shrugged, and told him dryly, "Just make the offer to pretend. They'll appreciate it, even if you're no good, and they'll have fun teasing you about it. Maybe chasing will work instead of wrestling, then? Or give yourself a handicap of some kind."

"Thanks. Shall we practice sometime?" Shizuo got up, about to walk out.

Maria flicked her pencil at him dismissively. "I'll find you when I want you. I have a project I may need your help on."

Shizuo felt a bit curious. "Oh, what could that be?"

"I'll tell you later. I'm still thinking about it."

"Okay. See you later."

"Bye-bye." Maria smiled and waved merrily.

* * *

_*Author's Note: The Halloween story Shinra refers to is a story I had to read when I was in first grade, I believe. The other stories in the book I was given were all boring, but that one horrified me. It's a twisted but a classic fairy tale structure:_

_Once upon a time there was a man whose wife had died, and he was lonely. Then one day he saw this beautiful woman with a tape-like scarf wrapped around her neck. He fell in love with her instantly. He courted her, and eventually she fell in love with him too. But she told him that he must promise her only one thing: no matter what happens, never to take her scarf off. Of course the man can do this for a while, but after being tempted three times, his curiosity gets to him. In a fit of anger against his wife over something-or-other, probably trust, he unravels the scarf. And her head falls off and blood spatters everywhere. She was never alive to begin with, and only weird ghost voodoo magic or something was keeping her "alive." He never marries again. (Or he may have committed suicide, or something, I can't remember—that may have been a different story.)_

_I have no idea why this story was fit to give to a first grader, but evidently it made an impression, so I couldn't help but bring it up again in this context. I beg your indulgence. __If you have any idea what the title could be, please write it in your review, for I have assuredly forgotten it._

_+ Props to the reviewer tsaurn. The story's name is "The Black Velvet Ribbon." There seem to be plenty of variations._


	13. Break 6

Break #6: In Which Celty Takes Full Advantage of the Benefits and Advantages of Owning a Head (Part 1)

Celty took herself off to Izaya's apartment. Maybe not the smartest thing to do—what if she ran into Izaya, what would he say?—but she wanted to keep up with Namie, and she had a mission to accomplish. So she squared her shoulders, nodded decisively, and rang the doorbell. She wrestled a little to get the yellow cat helmet off of her head before Namie opened the door. The scarf around her neck kind of pulled, twisted, and stretched strangely. That was awkward.

Namie opened the door. She stared at Celty and squinted, letting her eyes rove up and down, until she finally focused to start with Celty's feet and work her way up to her head. That seemed to waylay her confusion. She flinched when she got to the scarf at Celty's neck, but bravely continued to look her in the face. Then she came to herself, and slowly turning pink, looked at the ground again, and said, "Sorry. I was staring. It's hard to reconcile..."

"Don't worry about it. Hello, Namie."

"Hello, Celty." Namie hesitated, not knowing what to do next.

"Is Izaya in?" Celty asked.

"Yes, he is. He can hear us, too."

"_I heard that!"_ Izaya's voice interjected faintly from afar.

Namie smiled wanly. After a moment to consider, Namie said, "Come in," and stepped back from the door. "Izaya..." She shook her head. "He's not...never mind. You might as well see him, I suppose."

"That wasn't my intention, sure, but..." Celty let out a breath of air and smiled. "Good, I have a confrontation to look forward to. I'm sure he feels up to gloating."

Namie flashed her a short, grateful smile. "I'm glad you understand." She probably didn't want Celty going in to see him with the wrong expectations. Izaya's approach to relationships tended to unbalance people, even the ones who had known him the longest.

"Men," Celty agreed. "Utter fools, the lot of them. If you'll excuse me, I'm coming in. _Ojamashimasu!_" she called, stepped inside the house, and removed her boots.

Namie stepped back for her and pointed to the stairs that led up to Izaya's office space over the kitchen. "Go up there."

Izaya shrieked, "_No! — Don't come up here, you'll interrupt my beautiful work. I'll come down to see you, so stay there!"_

"He won't come down. Go up there," Namie urged her.

Celty called up to Izaya, "Well, at least let me see what you're working on!"

Celty mounted the stairs quickly and popped her head up just over the office floor to take a peek.

There were piles of papers everywhere, scattered on the floor.

Celty smiled. "My goodness, Izaya, I'd never thought you'd waste this much paper! I thought you were an electronics kind of guy."

Izaya turned halfway and scowled at Celty. Then he took a double take, and his face went unreadable as she mounted the stairs. He opened another file and examined its contents, possibly trying to avoid looking at her. "The old way works better," he muttered.

"Well? What are you doing?" asked Celty.

Izaya carried on as if nothing had happened. "I'm finishing up some information—it's broker work," he said shortly.

"I thought you quit."

"I _never_ quit. I went on hold. No, don't come here!" Izaya held up one hand warningly.

Celty scanned the floor again, appraisingly, and leaned on the wall. "If you keep this up, you are going to have a very short life," she said conversationally.

"But at least it won't be boring, _ne_?" Izaya turned back to the file he was currently contemplating.

"I suppose not. But it won't always be pleasant for you."

"Ain't that the truth," he muttered, tapping the file and frowning.

"What is it?"

"Well, for instance, seeing _you_ with _my_ head," he said, pretending nonchalance.

Celty snarled.

"Temper, temper." Izaya snapped the file shut and laid the papers in yet another pile on the floor. "Get out of my way. I'll come down to talk to you." He weaved his way through the piles and followed Celty downstairs. Celty led him to the kitchen, then turned around.

Izaya raised his chin and put his hands on his hips. "I'm surprised you chose to forgo your sculpted boots and gave up the opportunity to traipse all over someone's house in them. Aren't you here to insult me?"

"No."

"Pity, because that's _exactly_ what I would do in your place," said Izaya coldly. "And then this conversation would be over. Everyone's happy and we never speak to each other again. It works out so well."

"You are not me, and I am not you," said Celty calmly. "But also, there is one other person whom I respect in this house. If I stooped to that level, I would also be insulting her—and I would rather not, if you don't mind. I would rather confine my quarrel to you."

"Yes, how _did_ you persuade Namie to give you the head? _My_ head?"

This time Celty slapped him. Hard. And it felt good. Very good. "Don't distract me. I know you have things to hide, and I know what you're doing and it's not necessary or helpful to either of us. You're just avoiding the issue. Now. First of all, _she_ offered. Second, pretend to have ownership over my head again and I will take you to the ground. Don't think I won't."

Izaya rubbed his cheek, which was quickly turning pink from the force of her slap. "Point taken. Namie said the same." At least for the moment, he seemed remorseful.

Honestly, he was trying to rile her up. And for what purpose? Didn't he ever see what he was doing? No wonder he never had friends. He did everything he could to provoke them into crossing the line of no return, just to make sure that they wouldn't cross it entirely of their own volition. It was a classic "drop-them-before-they-drop-you" situation. Celty tried not to sigh. When he was like this, Izaya was simply _tiresome_.

So she stood tall, clasped her hands behind her back, and spoke the truth as directly as she saw it. "I have the most irritating feeling that you just baited me to prove a personal point of yours. I have no idea what it could be." Her blue-green eyes were piercing. "So drop it. Talk about the issue we have standing between us right now."

Izaya's crocodile mouth stretched cruelly, poised to say something irrelevant and even more damning—

Namie stepped forward briskly and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Stop."

"What?" Izaya turned to look at her in irritation.

"I said, _stop_. Say you're sorry and we can all move on." Namie shook his shoulder, slowly and gently, but hard enough to make him sway.

Izaya said flatly, "But I'm not sorry."

"Shut up. You're an idiot." She shook him harder.

Izaya hissed like a cat, trying to break from her hold. His narrowed eyes didn't waver from Namie's.

Namie's grip tightened. "No. No, you listen to me. Celty is my friend."

Izaya walked forward, wrenched his shoulder out of her grip and crossed his arms, turning to face her. "Oh?" he said.

"Yes. So back off. And as such, you should apologize. At least tell her what the hell you were actually doing with the head, because _I_ sure don't know. You owe her that much at least. Do the right thing."

Izaya's nostrils flared, and he locked eyes with Namie, breathing anger. And then he closed his eyes, turned back to Celty, and to Celty's amazement, he did what Namie said.

His voice was flat, and slightly disconnected from his feelings, but he did what she said.

"I am sorry that I hid your head for so long. In all fairness, in the beginning I was protecting it from the..._tender_..."(Izaya's lip curled with distaste) "ministrations of the Nebula Corporation. Namie and the head came together." Namie inclined her head, and he continued, "It certainly would not be safe with them. Namie was also attached to it because it's yet another painful and pathetic reminder of her brother Seiji, as twisted as that is." He glared at Namie. Namie didn't react. "And then I got interested. I had a theory that perhaps it was sleeping because it needed something like a war to wake it up."

"It had something to do with a valkyrie," Namie put in, sounding bored. "If that means anything to you. It was also about the time when the Dollars and the Yellow Scarves went head to head."

Celty blinked.

With a glance at Namie, Izaya went on warily. "Whatever. I failed to wake the head. I got bored, and I needed to use my office to receive visitors again. People start to ask questions when they see the head drifting in preservation fluid like a trophy. I never really intended to give it back to you, but I didn't have a need for it anymore, and I just wanted to see what might happen to it next. So I dropped hints to Shizuo and waited."

"And here we are," said Namie.

Izaya pointedly turned his back on them both.

Celty folded her arms and said quietly, "I've still got you to thank that I got my head back after all." Izaya twisted to stare at her with an expression that said very clearly, _Are you insane?,_ and he pretended to inspect some of Namie's new potted plants in front of him. Celty sighed. "Thanks for the apology. I'm honored, truly, it's more than I expected. Look, Izaya, I've got a new job with Tom Tanaka, Shizuo's old boss, but if you ever have work for me to do you can still call me up. Don't forget. It's not like I support everything you do, and I'll refuse any jobs that I see as unreasonable as usual, but I'm not opposed to working for you either. Okay?"

Izaya nodded curtly.

"Thank you, Celty," said Namie, on his behalf.

Celty made a face. _On the contrary. Apparently, I couldn't have had a civil conversation without you._ "Namie, I've got some things I want to ask you."

"What kinds of things?" They drifted into the living room, away from Izaya.

"Womanly things."

"Excuse me for a moment." Namie turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Go back to work, Izaya!"

Izaya made grumbling noises and made as if to go upstairs. Celty noticed he didn't ascend all the way. It amused her rather.

"As I was saying...um...actually I came here because I was wondering if you knew anything about makeup and clothes." Celty blushed a light pink.

"Really?"

"Yes. Umm... I know you were a respected as scientist and President at Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. Shinra mentioned working with you sometimes. I thought you'd know about, oh, you know, workplace fashion or something. How to look presentable."

"Ye-es," said Namie, uncertainly.

"I don't own any clothes of my own. I've never needed to. I have my black suit, which I can change into any form at will, but I don't have any color. And...well, now that I've got my head back, I want to be able to walk around in public without anyone guessing that I'm the Black Rider. So I think something besides black that isn't biker gear is in order."

Namie's face was twitching, as if she really wanted to smile, but couldn't quite yet. "Yes. Yes, I see. Me too...there's still a bounty on my head, but if I'm with you..." Her voice wobbled a little with a dawning happiness. "I think I can do that. I'll be back in just a minute. Wait for me, please?"

"Of course."

Namie turned, grabbed the stair railing, and yelled to the rafters, _"IZAAAAYA, I'm going out! With CELTY!"_

Unaccustomed to the noise, Izaya clutched at his hair, and screeched his reply, _"Well, go on! I won't believe it until I see it!"_

"_I KNOW!"_ she bawled, and ran to get her purse from her room.

"Are you guys always this loud?" Celty asked Izaya.

Izaya didn't deign to answer that with anything but a light shrug. Must be a new thing. He turned around on the office stairs and said in his normal voice, "I have just one thing to say."

"Say it."

"You've got your head back. You'll be in danger from Nebula."

"I was in danger to begin with," said Celty.

"No, you worked out a deal with Shinra's father Shingen, let him do the experiments, and that protected you from Nebula's influence. But Nebula always takes notice when there are new developments and nuances to the immortal beings they study. Regaining your head would qualify. Even if they choose you reject you for further experimentation...which they probably will...you'll be in the grey for at least three months once they find out."

"Thanks for the warning, Izaya."

"Don't thank me. I did it for Namie."

"If you insist."

Namie came rushing from the hall. "Hey! What did you guys talk about? I heard my name."

"Nothing," said Celty and Izaya, almost in unison. "Nebula," Celty added, afterwards. Izaya glared at her. "Hey, I've got something to announce to you both."

"What?"

"Shinra and I are engaged to be married!"

Izaya smirked. "I knew it. The doc was crazy about you. Congrats. I got the phone call last night." His tone was ironic. "Sometimes Shinra acts like a teenage _girl_."

Celty stiffened, but didn't otherwise react. Namie shot a look at Izaya; turned back to Celty. "Congratulations to you both. I'm glad to see you and Izaya getting along," said Namie, cramming things into her bag.

"We usually do," Celty reassured her. "Izaya seems be working through some kind of paranoia." Celty glowered in his direction.

Izaya didn't refute this. He simply shook his head, turned, and walked slowly back up the stairs, all the way. They heard his office chair's wheels roll back and creak forwards, and then there was taut silence.

"He's ashamed, I think," said Namie, biting her lip, glad to have someone to talk to about Izaya for once. She held out the door to the apartment, and they both put on their shoes.

"Probably. He prides himself on being able to figure out the human race. He doesn't like being proven wrong, or being shown a side of himself that he isn't exactly objective." Celty shook herself quickly and walked out the door. "That said, I've never seen this side of him before."

"Yes..." Namie locked the door behind them.

"It's good to see that he trusts you. You're a good influence."

"What?" Namie gawked at Celty.

"Well, he does trust you. He wouldn't obey anyone else like that. I'd like to see anyobody else try and make him apologize."

"I...I guess you're right," said Namie, a bit shaken.

Celty thought that unsure, bewildered expression of hers was rather cute.

They went shopping. They bought three kinds of lipsticks for Celty, one a dark purplish red that made her look edgy and gothic, one a soft orange red that went well with her hair, and the third was a light pinkish purple that was just barely more intense than the actual shade of her lips. It's like chapstick, Namie explained. Namie said that the rest of the makeup supplies could wait for another day, since Celty's goal was to appear in public looking normal, so they needed more time to look for clothes. Truth to tell Namie probably just wanted another one of these girl-time dates.

They needed that time because Celty was a little lost in the clothes department. After some consideration, Namie decided they should start with pants. No one could go wrong there. Unfortunately Celty had a taller and more buxom figure than most girls in Japan, and they found very little for a long time until finally they found one that fit. They were plain blue bell-bottomed jeans. "Here, order a lot of these," said Namie. "They're practical. We'll search for something more fancy later."

"Okay," said Celty happily, and clutched her shopping bags to her chest.

The blouses were much easier after that. Namie had a good eye for the practical items that Celty needed. Of course it helped that their tastes were similar: high quality, sleek, no branding, classic. Namie liked texture, which Celty was oblivious to; and Celty liked dark colors, a serious affliction which Namie tried to alleviate as best she could—sometimes whimsically.

In the middle of their trip, Namie realized Celty didn't have any underclothes at all, and she was probably going to need them. Someday. Okay, that could be awkward. And she'd really rather not be involved.

The conversation went much like this. "Do you need any pointers on getting a bra?" "No. You just find what fits, right?" "Pretty much. Go play. I'm going to take a nap over here while you do that, okay? And get some underwear too. It doesn't have to be lingerie. Comfy is good... Please don't show me what you get." With that, Namie yawned, curled up in the corner of her favorite department store, and took a nap. Celty woke her up when she was done, barely fifteen minutes later. Namie glanced at the clock. "Wow, that was fast. Well done."

With renewed energy, they took off to scout out jackets, shoes, socks, and purses. Celty was simply fascinated by the jackets, which bemused Namie. "But you never get cold," she observed. And Celty said, "Ermm...sometimes...But they look so cool!"

And at the end— "Would you like a white lab coat of your own?" Namie teased.

"No thanks, I'm good." Celty grinned. "Shinra can keep his just fine."

They went out for ice-cream, and stayed in the parlor long after they were done, talking about boys and Izaya and Shinra and what Namie's life at Yagiri Pharmaceuticals was like, hashing out Shinra's involvement there, and a couple of Namie's ideas for what she wanted to do next.

"Maybe you need to meet the right person to get you started," Celty suggested. "You don't have that many connections. The only guy you had to help you before was Shingen, a little, who was at the time working for your university—wow, thinking about it, that phase didn't last long for him before he got kicked out, but he sure had a huge impact—and your uncle, I guess?"

Namie's brows furrowed, and she put her head on her left hand, thinking. "Yeah. Could be. My uncle died, leaving his post open. And my father stepped in, but he isn't ... he isn't here anymore. We don't even know..." She shook her head.

"He probably funded you until you got your feet off the ground, huh."

"Yes, exactly. We barely had time to become profitable and recoup his investments twice over before we were bought out."

"Ouch." Celty winced.

"Yeah. It hurt. I don't want to fail like that again. It was really good to have Dad manage the business, it left me time to dream." Namie played with her water glass. "Until he left. I could do business just fine, I think. I watched him closely enough. But I can't be the scientist, the visionary, the manager, and the businesswoman all at once. I need to have only one role so I can focus. That's why I'm afraid..."

"Right. You need a group of people, a team to support you, with connections."

Namie nodded. "The thing that scares me about that...the reason why I don't like to think about it is...well, you know, I'm shy." She lowered her head and massaged her neck. "The only way I know how to cover for it is by being bossy."

"I believe it." Celty drummed her fingers on the table. "Maybe if you told Izaya what was hanging you up, he would help you."

Namie considered. "It's worth a try. He does have tabs on everyone, it's just not usually people in the respected scientific community..."

Celty laughed harshly and wiped tears from her eyes. How long it had been since she had cried for joy. "But in the immortals community, he's got tabs everywhere. That is _so_ Izaya. Always looking for excitement." She shook her head. "And it's also perfect for you, because of your interests. Hopefully they're not all Nebula. But it's not just scientists. If you can find a businessman who is interested in your ideas, or an investor, anyone...those people can help you too."

"Yeah. Thanks, Celty."

"Anytime. Hey, do you know what Izaya was working on?"

"I have an idea. That's all. I think he's keeping track of his enemies' movements. Well, his and mine." Namie stroked the wood of the table.

"Hmm."

Namie looked up. "Explained something, did it?"

Celty stretched. "A little bit, yes. I hope he's having fun at LME. Makes life easier for all of us."

"Not for me," said Namie ruefully.

"Oh, come off it. You get what, twelve whole hours to yourself?"

"It gets a bit lonely. I don't have much to do. And Izaya's too tired to order me around much after nine o'clock, though to be fair, I complain a lot. To maintain appearances."

"Then we should do more together. Is there anything you'd like to try? A class or something?"

"Karate," Namie answered promptly.

Celty cracked her knuckles. "I hear it's hard on the joints. How about judo?" Celty countered. "Or cooking?" Celty liked to cook, but she wasn't quite confident of how good it tasted.

"I know how to cook. I can teach you, if you like. I bet Shinra would like Korean black bean sauce. Wushu!"

"Tai-chi!"

Namie gave her a withering look.

Celty scratched her head. "On second thought, let's avoid combat."

"_Why_?" Namie demanded.

Celty grinned guiltily and held up her hands. "Too many choices. And you're scaaaaaarrrry..."

"Why you—!" Namie grabbed Celty's shoulders and shook her back and forth while Celty laughed and laughed, squealing something that sounded like "_I don't wanna fight! I don't wanna fight!_" and people turned to look at them. Then Namie hooked one of Celty's arms into a headlock position until Celty sputtered, "K-k-kendo!"

That one Namie didn't care for so much. She released Celty, sat back and wrinkled her nose. "Expensive. Lots of sweat. Okay, maybe it's stereotypical, but I prefer _naginata-jutsu_ over that."

That got Celty's attention. "A pole-arm. Yes." She thought of her scythe. "That could actually be useful. I like it. Namie, you remember...?" Celty outlined the shape of the scythe with her hands. Namie's eyes lit up. "You're a genius!"

"Ah! Yes, I do remember." Namie grinned at Celty. "Let's do it. I'll look up classes."

"It can't just be schoolgirls who are learning, I'm sure." Celty grinned back.

"Even if there are, oh! Bah! Who cares?" Namie waved her hand dismissively.

It was just so nice to have a girl for a friend.

* * *

The next day, Celty took the tags off of the clothes she bought and assembled her outfit: a long-sleeved green shirt—well, more of a tunic, it had a cord to tighten the the shape of the figure—and then dark blue jeans underneath. It looked pretty normal, but nice. Celty took her head off to brush her hair, an activity which would have scandalized Shinra if he saw. She chose some sandals and her new purse and hopped over to the mirror to fix her makeup and her scarf.

She was about to go, but then she hesitated. She wanted to take a really good look in the mirror before she headed out into the city looking like a normal person for the first time. It was still startling to see her own pale moss-green eyes staring back at her. She thought she might have black hair—wouldn't that suit her so well?—but instead her hair was a soft reddish brown. It was puzzling. It made her look gentle, and, well, rather young, not imposing or powerful at all, as she had become used to thinking of herself. Was that really _her_?

Shinra came up behind her and threw his arms around her shoulders and waist. "I just happened to hear you thinking..." He peeked over her shoulder at the mirror.

"Oh, you did, did you?" Celty wriggled her trapped arm out of Shinra's embrace and locked both of his arms together with her hands at his wrists. Now he couldn't move unless she let him.

"Yes. You're thinking you're not pretty enough, or not normal-looking enough, or something," Shinra said. "But you're Celty. No one in their right minds can keep their eyes off you." He tried to wrest one arm away from Celty in order to push his glasses back up on his nose, but failed. He sighed and rested his head against her shoulder instead.

"_Buu-buu. _That was not what I was thinking. And 99.99999...oh forget it...percent of humanity can keep their eyes off of me just fine."

Shinra sniffed. "Their loss. Wait, I don't want to share you anyway! So what were you really thinking?"

"That I'm not sure if that face...is me. If it represents me, I mean. I know it's my face. It's beautiful. I know that, too, and I'm glad. But I'm not sure if it says the right things about me to people. Do you know what I mean?"

"What, that you are gentle and kind and kind of shy and totally cute?"

"Yes. Like that."

"Well, it's true. Except the 'shy' part depends. Of course, it's also true that you are sophistocated and old and wise and smart, and that you aren't a pushover by any stretch. I guess you'll just have to show people that those things are true through your actions, just like everybody else. Besides, have you ever considered what a _yellow cat motorbike helmet_ says to people?"

"Errrr..." To be honest, Celty never had thought about that. And it was a present from Shinra, many years back. How could she not...?

Shinra chuckled. "Figures. Celty, that old thing worked for you because you're _you_. On anybody else, they would look like a dork. But eventually it kinda became your icon, and once that happened people stopped worrying about what it meant and it was just _you_."

Celty snorted with humor, imagining it. "So you're telling me to stop worrying and get over it."

"I'm telling you to stop worrying and get over it. To be honest... Listen, Celty, this is Human Culture 101: people relate to people with faces. Or animals. Actually, even _things_ with faces..." He distracted himself.

"So I've been telling you for years."

Shinra stood on his tiptoes to make himself seen over Celty's shoulder and made a face. "Yeah, but I hereby proclaim myself weird. What I'm trying to say is, people will feel more at ease when they approach you now. I'm sure you've met some people who were just plain terrified of you because of your helmet, right? Even though it was a happy yellow."

"I guess. Occasionally." Celty reflected. "They couldn't figure out how to talk to me. Wouldn't even look at what I was holding in my hands, to see what I had actually written there."

"Yeah. They didn't have a clue." Shinra tried to stick his face under her arm. It didn't work. "But because you have this face, even ordinary people will give you a fair chance. And moreover, they'll see qualities that they might have assumed you didn't have at first glance when you didn't have your head, that you actually have."

Celty took a moment to track that statement. "Oh. You mean...the qualities that they can see in my face now, like kindness, were the qualities they really needed to see first, before they would give me a chance. They thought I was dangerous."

"Umm. Yeah," said Shinra, still weaving his head about to catch sight of the mirror. "And they're _kinda_ right...you are, technically...but you would never harm them, because you are gentle and kind and don't want to hurt anybody, even your enemies. Don't deny it, I've seen you. They just didn't know because they couldn't see it, and when their instincts screamed at them, and, you see, you've got to trust your instincts."

"So it's the right face for me."

"Yes it is." Shinra smiled, and Celty released his arms and let him take a step back. She turned around and took his hands again in a light grip, swinging them a little, and in the moment her expression was blissfully happy. She was not looking at him directly, but she was blushing, and her eyes were sparkling.

She was so beautiful it made his heart seize with joy. Taking a deep breath, Shinra said to her, gabbling a little and talking too fast from excitement, "Have I—have I mentioned how g-gh-ghhm _glad!_ I am that I am now able to do—_this—_" He released her hands and pulled her shoulders down, and he kissed—

Celty stumbled back, taken by surprise by the sudden surge in momentum, but in the blink of an eye she had regained her balance and locked her fingers behind Shinra's head, and _she_ finished the kiss.

They both gasped for air. And once she got enough of her breath back, Celty said, "_Yes_, I am too—" and Shinra grabbed her again, a little roughly because his hands were shaking and wouldn't grip properly, but Celty hardly cared, her head was whirling with happiness and excitement and the next several moments were very, very busy.

[...]

Finally Celty pulled back, and Shinra coughed and wheezed, "Sorry I grabbed you like that—I was—"

"No, no, it was nothing. Let's take it a little slower next time—"

"Yeah, uh, I—yeah I meant to—but I—I—" Shinra's hands couldn't gesture enough. "I love you."

It was a little comical but she knew exactly what he meant. "I love you, too." Celty embraced him again.

And Shinra said into her shoulder, "You were about to do something important. By yourself. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Just one more—"

Celty smiled. "Fine. But after that I've got to say goodbye to my motorcycle, and then I'm leaving."

"All right," Shinra sighed.

* * *

Celty had to say goodbye to her motorcycle because it would be offended if she left it behind without a reason. It didn't like to be without her, and Celty rarely ventured into the city without it. It may have looked like an inanimate object, but it still had the spirit of a horse pounding in its engine, and it longed to have its "run."

So she explained her errand, and why she was leaving it behind, and in response the bike thrummed with contentment. Celty promised to take it out on a good long ride the next day.

Hmm, maybe _that's_ why she was getting in trouble with the police lately. Riding her bike was a system of subtle negotiations, and it didn't always like to listen to her worries about the speed laws. The bike could handle itself, it reminded her often, and therefore speed restrictions and safety worries were unnecessary. It would never crash or run over people, for instance, so what was the point?

Celty could rarely convince it otherwise, and what made it all the harder was that she also liked the speed. That probably rendered her arguments ineffective...

She patted it once more, brushed herself off, and left. The engine rumbled to itself.

Celty walked to the main square and looked around. She doubted if anyone would recognize her the way she was dressed now, but what if she introduced herself to them?

That made her feel very sneaky. She stretched cracked her knuckles. If there was a time to prank, this was it.

First order of business. She hadn't realized when she left the apartment, but now she was hungry. So she went into the sushi shop off the corner of the square, and let herself in.

The bells tinkled, and she closed the door softly. Then she caught Simon's eye, put a finger to her lips, and winked.

Simon's jaw dropped and he gaped like a fish.

Celty sighed and smiled at him. She took out her cellphone. **It's me, Celty. The Black Rider. Don't tell anyone! Is Kadota's gang here? I want to surprise them.**

Simon nodded, and led her down the hall. He was always eager to please. He blocked the doorway to the room and Celty slipped out from behind and under his arm, and scurried to stand behind Kadota, blocking his eyes.

"Kadota-kun! Guess who?"

"_Ahnnngh_. I don't like this game!" Kadota groaned. "Please! Anyone! Just tell me who it is!"

Celty giggled. Togusa, Erika, and Walker were all gaping, wordless. A piece of salmon slipped from Walker's chopsticks and fell on his rice.

Togusa said slowly, "Kyohei, you're going to have to guess."

"What? Nobody else can tell either?" Kadota said, annoyed. "Why's that?"

"We were kind of hoping that you knew her...Sort of..." said Togusa. "Have you been... um..." His eyes flickered and he turned red.

Erika licked her lips. "Should we intervene, _Dotachin_?" A catlike smile pulled at her mouth. Her hunger for action was hard to hide.

"No, no, something seems familiar," said Kadota. "And stop calling me that! Can I have my eyes back, strange woman? Since nobody seems to recognize you?"

"Fine," said Celty, and stepped back. Erika and Walker wriggled sideways to make room for her to sit, and she did, laying her hands in her lap demurely. "Let's play twenty questions."

Kadota blinked several times and stared at her. "_Looks_ like Mika Harima, but _isn't_. You're way taller. And you've got a different figure. Are you her mother?"

"No."

"Sister."

"No."

"Cousin."

"No."

"Aunt."

"No."

"Grandmother," Kadota gave up in defeat. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

"No. Fifteen questions left," Celty warned.

"How do you know me?"

"Through my fiancée, I guess. And the information broker. I don't know, actually. It seems like I've known about you forever."

"Jeez..." Kadota looked to the others for help. "That's way too open. Can you guys...you know...?"

Walker leapt in quickly. "So, how do you know all of us?"

"Oooh, that's a lot harder. I meet you around town pretty often."

Kadota moaned and clutched his hat. "You're going to _ruin_ my reputation with the kids!"

Celty glanced at Erika. She certainly had the fiery glint of a girl busily constructing mental fantasies. "Sorry," Celty said cheerfully.

Erika leaned forward. "_Ne, ne_. Are you in a relationship with Kadota?"

"Nope. Just friends. 12 questions!"

"Well, shoot. Are you—gay?" Erika asked, while Walker yelped, "That's irrelevant!"

"Didn't I just say I had a fiancée?"

"Oh yeah, you did." Erika tried to look contrite and failed. Kadota clapped a hand over his face. Over in the corner, Togusa blew at his air mopily.

"I'll give that one back to you... Togusa, I've yet to hear from you. What do you say?"

Togusa pressed his lips together, then said, "Are you a celebrity?"

"Oh, good question! Perhaps you should define what a celebrity is. Eleven questions."

"Are you an idol?"

"Nope."

"A singer?"

"Not at all. You don't want me in a karaoke bar. Well, actually... Hm. Actually, that might change."

What in the world? Togusa tried again. "An actor?"

"No."

"But you're famous."

"Yes. Seven questions."

"Are you a local?"

"Yes, of course. I live in this district."

Kyohei and Togusa exchanged glances. They should have known. "Are you a businesswoman?"

"Not really."

"What kind of job?"

"I'm a transporter and a...bodyguard, you might say. Oh no, that's not the right description at all." Celty wondered what Tom would describe her job as. "Enforcer, that's it."

"Do you know Tom Tanaka?"

"Yes. One question to spare!"

Walker blurted, "Are you the Black Rider?" and Erika crowed with triumph.

Celty was so excited that she had a coughing fit. "Aaaww, I was so close," she complained. "All right, I admit I lost. You know my name, though, right?"

"Celty Sturluson," Kadota answered. "That takes the cake. In fact, I'll buy you one."

"Why, thank you! You didn't have to!" Celty was touched.

Kadota smiled thinly. "You certainly are a troublesome woman. So, who's your fiancée?"

"Shinra Kishitani, of course." Celty smiled.

Kadota nodded. "Just making sure. Good for you. Congratulations."

"Congrats!" said Togusa.

"The best!" said Walker.

"Make lots of love!" Celty shot Erika a pained and pointed look, to which she was impervious. The rest of the gang suddenly became very interested in eating up their rice and avoided each other's eyes.

Kadota leaned back and put his hands behind his neck. "So...you have a head."

"I do."

"Do I _want_ to know why your face looks like Mika's?" asked Kadota.

Celty shrugged. "Not really, but it's no secret. You never know what you're going to need to know on the streets. You see, I have been looking for my head for a very long time. Before I came to Tokyo, actually—let's just say that was thirty years or so. I came very close to it. It turned out that Shingen, Shinra's father, used Saika to steal my head without my knowledge. Well, he studied it for a while, and then handed it to a partner of his, a certain Yagiri. Do you follow?"

"Oh my—god," said Kadota, completely shocked. "Seiji-kun. Seiji Yagiri."

"Seiji-kun?" Erika chirped. "Yep, he's been dating Mika for a while. Or should I say, she stalked him until he gave up and surrendered to the _tsundere_. And now they're deep in love! They are sooo_ cuuuuuuuuute_."

Slightly pained by that assessment, Celty continued. "Yes. Seiji's father owned the head, and Seiji fell in—lust?—love?—with it. And then Mika was stalking him. They had an accident, he thought he'd killed her, and Namie—scientist, president of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, you remember her? She's Izaya's housekeeper right now—she fixed up Mika. Apparently in whatever illicit experiments were going on there, they do plastic surgery pretty regularly, so Namie easily reconstructed Mika's face to look like my head's."

"That's some serious work of mischief," said Kadota, turning gray.

"There you have it. It gets worse. Seiji falls in love with Mika, who is wearing my face."

"You're right, that _is_ worse," said Kadota drily. Togusa pinched him. "_What_?"

"Sarcasm."

Kadota rolled his eyes. "Oh. My never-ending bad habit. Please continue, Celty."

"As I was saying, the worst part is that I then spotted Mika and cornered her because I sensed my head nearby. I have no idea why. It actually wasn't my head. But she has quite a scar on her neck. So...I thought my head had been sewed on hers, and I couldn't get it back without killing her! It was quite a dilemma!"

Everyone just kind of stared at her, at a loss for words. The 'joke' just didn't work for Celty. It was unthinkable for Celty to set aside mercy and kindness even for an instant. Even for a joke. She couldn't really have considered...

Sensing this, Celty coughed and blushed a little. "Sorry. _Of course_ I couldn't do that. But...eventually I realized that _wasn't_ my head stuck on Mika. So I kept searching. And here comes the weird part. Namie's business got taken over by this foreign enterprise, Nebula. She fled with the head to Izaya's apartment. Izaya decided to play a game of 'wake the head' according to his own weird apocalyptic theories and failed. He got bored, dropped a hint to Shizuo, and Shizuo related it to me. And I got it back."

"Huh. Shizuo and Izaya actually communicated?" Kadota leaned forward, speaking in an even lower voice than normal.

"Yep."

"Where are they, by the way?"

Celty too dropped her voice, put a finger in front of her lips and blew. "That's a secret. Shhh. They are being very, very _good_."

Kadota nodded. He understood.

Togusa shook his head hard, like a dog shaking off excess water. "That. That story is seriously messed up. I feel like...like..."

"Like some weird and bizarre soap opera invaded the earth and we never knew it," supplied Walker.

Togusa seized on it. "Yeah. Kinda like that. Exactly. It makes me start to wonder if our lives are quite that bizarre... Remember when you were writing that novel and we saw aliens flying across the city? You were so excited..."

"Of course I remember. That was _my _novel that incident was imitating!" Walker said gleefully.

Kadota shook his head. "Oi, Walker. I _read_ your novel and there was nothing in there like that incident."

Erika stuck out her tongue at Kadota on Walker's behalf. Kadota raised his eyebrows.

"Sure, drama like this happens. I'm sure we all know families whose fates were royally tangled up, even without magic. Our lives happen in such a way that we don't think these things are that extraordinary at the time, do we?" Celty stretched lazily. "Shall we go get that cake, Kadota-san?"

"Oh, it's 'Kadota-san', now, is it?" Kadota looked around the table. "Never trust a woman being playful. Well, you guys ready to go?"

"_Ikimashou!_ Let's go!" Walker and Erika were almost in chorus. They liked cake.


	14. Chapter 7

_Characters: Ren Tsuruga, Kasuka Heiwajima (Yuuhei Hanejima), Shinra Kishitani, Yukihito Yashiro, Kyoko Mogami, President Lory Takarada, Shizuo Heiwajima, Izaya Orihara, Section Head Takenori Sawara + u__nnamed Durarara! characters: Mikado Ryuugamine, Anri Sonohara, __Mika Harima, Seiji Yagiri, _Celty Sturluson, Simon Brezhnev

Chapter Seven: In Which Various Pasts are Exposed, Tsuruga-san Watches Ikebukuro Local TV, and the President Gives Tsuruga a Good Kick in the Romantic Direction

At long last, Tsuruga could sit down and watch the DVD Kasuka had slipped him as there weren't any acting jobs scheduled for a while. Yashiro-san regimented when Tsuruga's breaks occurred just as tightly as the rest of his schedule, but he did not insist on what he did during them other than the intentionally vague requirement that he "rest and eat."

Tsuruga took the remote, clicked play, and started watching.

Local television? It was definitely home-recorded... Kasuka was _such_ a private person. Did it not occur to him to ask for an extra copy from the studio he worked for?

Tsuruga got up to make popcorn. He knew how these things went. The point of the video would not be quick to come clear...

He came back when he saw that Kasuka's face was on screen, and a famous newscaster's voice explained that he was returning to show off his hometown of Ikebukuro. From there, Kasuka took over, explaining that his first order of business was "Love Love Star Chance Find the #1 couple in Ikebukuro"...and if they wanted to, that couple would appear in one of his movies...

Tsuruga stifled a groan. That, um, had to be the, er, fluffy permed-blond assistant TV director's decision... Tsuruga had forgotten his name. To be more precise, he clean wiped it out of his memory. Tsuruga too remembered when he had served his time under that man's thumb. At that point all he wanted was to survive the experience_._ The assistant TV director was a good friend of Lory's, and had similar delusions of love and grandeur, which completely explained why he was on staff at LoveMe, but his grip on reality was so light as to be nonexistent. The TV director produced meaningless crap for the local channels that could be used even when nothing particularly momentous was going on, or when negotiations for an investigation into somewhere had broken down before the segment could be aired. Nobody said TV was LoveMe's strong point—its real strong point was producing solid actors and building their careers. TV was used as a crude tool.

Come on, _ganbare..._

But it didn't get any better. Good grief, Kasuka was actually acting _happy,_ and projecting an appropriate level of energy as sincerely as he could_._ It wasn't perfect, but he was in complete control and honestly, what newscaster doesn't come off as personally divided at times? Still, nobody would guess that he personally detested this job. And that _was_ better than Tsuruga had ever done in his position... Hm, was that when he mastered the expression Kyoko called his 'lying gentlemanly smile'? Could have been.

Shut up, thoughts. They'd gotten to the point already.

Let's see—a fairly normal young pair, the crazy-obsessed in love couple—HEY, WAS THAT A SCAR AROUND HER NECK?!—scratch that, a stalker and her stalkee... Then there was a friendly older couple who had just been engaged, perhaps in their mid-thirties—

Kasuka launches into a short, fairly typical anecdote about his first date. He was quite clearly setting the stage for the boyfriend and girlfriend standing right in front of him (the camera, focussing on him at first, pulled out to reveal them). They were quite surprised to be interrupted in the middle of apparently deep thoughts. When asked questions, the girl did not reply, but the boy was startled into talking and dug himself into one hole after another and talked himself out of each one. He was rather sweet and philosophical. The girl suddenly got interested in the middle of this, and started blushing and became embarrassed. The boy noticed and lost his cool again...

It was all rather curious and amusing, but then a man holding out a serrated knife appeared in the middle of the crowd, and yelled, "_Yuuhei Hanejima!_" Having gotten everyone's attention, he growled in a voice as guttural and dirty as a clogged sewer, "_give me back my girlfriend...give her back...!_"

Kasuka tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes at the knife. Judging it. Like he knew something...suspected something...

"DIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" the man shouted, and charged with the fury of a wild beast, knife poised to plunge straight into Kasuka's chest.

Tsuruga jumped so badly he fumbled the remote and the video kept moving forward while Tsuruga scrabbled to find it again. Fumbling the buttons, after a confusing series of mistakes he finally paused it. Man alive. Kasuka never even _hinted._ Was an attempt on his life so trivial? A death threat on any actor's life? Why hadn't he heard of it? Of course these things happened to the famous, but _why_—?

They must have covered it up, Tsuruga thought grumpily. But even now that he knew what was going on, Tsuruga had to rewind the tape several times to catch the next part.

The boy jumped protectively in front of the girl, whose eyes are inexplicably glowing red. It was unnecessary because the knife was aimed to miss them completely on its way to stab Kasuka in the chest. The knife was just about to make impact when a red-and-white sign ripped through the air, and the man suddenly wasn't _there_ any more. The camera pans, and you can see that the sign slammed the man with the knife to the pavement and, still sliding across the concrete, dragged the man to a stop barely six feet away from Kasuka. Dead?

Kasuka didn't even blink, although his head swiveled to look at the man and then to look somewhere past the camera, into the distance, his expression unreadable.

Even that idiot TV director wouldn't do something this dangerous and stupid on purpose, or knowing that something was going on that could harm his actors. Besides, he's an insufferable romantic, not a thrillers freak.

The boy mutters, and the audio picks it up although it's barely audible, "Was the man who threw that Shizuo-san? It would have to be...there isn't anyone else, huh?..."

_Oh._ So that was Shizuo.

Well...but the show must go on. After a _very_ short commecial break, a new headline springs up: "Bizarre! Tokyo Mystery Spot Flying Vending Machines". In the buildings a little ways past Kasuka, there appears to be an explosion, a smattering of — street signs? — hanging out of the next building's side like needles stuck in a pincushion. A red box (presumably a vending machine) flew out of the cloud towards a black-clad figure who used the street signs as springboards to dodge the flying projectiles... And there's another flying white box...

While Kasuka was ad-lib style narrating on the fly, the boy and the girl stood gobsmacked to one side, and a black man in a white sushi-shop uniform held out a sign decorated with roses. It was outrageous. He had been seizing opportunities use Kasuka's camera team to illicitly advertise throughout the program. The man dressed in black drops to the ground somewhere behind Kasuka (even when the tape is stopped, he's moving too fast for Tsuruga to make out his face), and the other figure in a bartender's uniform with a blond mop of hair landed on the sushi-shop worker's shoulders before leaping to the pavement. The man in black (Izaya?) sprinted towards the nearest alley away from the crowd and the bartender (Shizuo?) took off in pursuit.

In heavily accented Japanese, the sushi-shop worker calls after them, "Fighting is bad! You'll get hungry!" and waves the rose-decorated sign. As if this happens all the time. He is completely casual about it.

So that pair must be well known.

Tsuruga sighed. Kasuka's narration was making less and less sense, but nobody watching would care. The events _themselves_ didn't make sense. This episode is just too bizarre.

A couple of explosions and a lot of street signs later (are there really that many on the streets?), another mysterious figure appears. Somebody hysterically shrieks, "Black Rider!" But it's only a woman in a black suit on a black motorcycle and a yellow cat helmet. The sushi-shop worker gets ahold of the camera, and just like that the spectacle is over.

That was...quick.

Next is a "Ikebukuro's Best Restaurants with Hanejima Yuuhei." The place is actually a cultural monstrosity known as Russian Sushi...so, _somewhat_ normal...except the sushi-shop worker keeps holding up handwritten advertisements on cheap paper... _Even in this day and age, there are still people who just don't understand the purpose of TV?!_

Before you know it, it's back to Ikebukuro - the skies of the city, anyway - with a new headline: "Ghost on live broadcast! What is the black shadow!? Evil spirits in Ikebukuro!"

Tsuruga couldn't believe that Kasuka was still treating this seriously. He just had to be cracking up inside. It was almost unnatural how perfectly Kasuka stuck to his "reporter" role. Of course he was skillfully talking in circles around the event, and Tsuruga noted that he never worked up to a satisfying and plausible conclusion about what caused the incident...

The next segment, "Protect the city's peace! Close Up! Big City 24 Hours Police Big Success!" covered the police force pursuing a someone in black on a motorcycle. Contrary to what was advertised, the police did not seem to be having much success. Kasuka's tone was completely suitable: horrified, amazed, eager to see the end... _Oh, I remember. __I bet that's the "Black Rider" again._

That segment wound down slowly—the police admitted that they had lost the tail of their suspect—and that was the end of the broadcast. It was a most entertaining, throughly unbelievable two hours of television, and it was bizarre.

Tsuruga called Yashiro. Perhaps if he had a second opinion, he'd know what to think about it. Yashiro quickly grasped the situation and came right over.

They watched it a second time. Tsuruga wasn't as avidly glued to the TV this time (he withdrew to the kitchen to make dinner), but Yashiro didn't move from the couch; he was given to making remarks as he watched and so Tsuruga replied on occasion.

Finally it ended. Rather than stop the tape, Yashiro got up and walked into the kitchen, shaking his head. "Well...Ren, I don't know what to say."

"Do you believe it?"

"I don't want to, but I do."

Tsuruga sighed. "I thought so. That was my feeling as well."

Yashiro pressed his lips together. "Ren, could you tell me again why you were watching this?"

"Kasuka wanted me to. He wanted me to understand something about his brother, Shizuo. Did you catch the comment of the boy in the city square—?"

"Yeah...yes...I heard."

"He has a true rival with Izaya Orihara, the other young man who joined LoveMe."

"Confusing."

"Yes, very. Kasuka thought this would clarify the relationship somehow."

"I don't see how—"

The TV screen, which had been turned on but left running on black, came back to life.

* * *

"Hello." A young man wearing a white lab coat, glasses, and a small smile peered out at them. His hair was very straight, and stuck out in all directions at the bottom, like a lizard's frill, because of its own weight. "Ah, _toriaezu..._for the time being, I'll introduce myself, I guess? Heiwajima-chan, er, Kasuka—Heiwa—Yuu—Yuuhei—Wa—_wazawaza... _Kasuka-kun, oh, why oh _why_ do you have so many _names_?!"

Another face broke into the video. The camera refocused. The face was Kasuka's, though his expression was not quite as bland as usual. "This is my friend Shinra Kishitani. Pay no attention to him; I've just borrowed his video camera."

"Your name, your _name,_" Shinra hissed, fuzzy in the background.

"Ah, yes. My name is Kasuka Heiwajima, otherwise known as Yuuhei Hanejima by the general public. But if you're viewing this, you should know that." His eyes slid towards Shinra. "This particular television segment probably won't be kept for future use, after it was initially broadcast. We had an inkling that this would be the case even before it happened. So I had to borrow Shinra-kun's recorder."

"You can't believe how annoying it was to sit here and watch while Celty went out and tried to get herself killed on local television," Shinra muttered, clapping Kasuka on the back. "I _told_ her not to do that!"

Kasuka didn't flinch, although his expression tightened with annoyance. Tsuruga remembered that he didn't like physical contact unless it was strictly required by the script. Even then he couldn't always do it unless he'd gone out with the actor in question for a few drinks before filming started. It was something of a handicap, and a major reason why Kasuka's characters were usually celibate. Luckily most everyone was considerate because of the effort involved, for now, but Lory Takarada had been working on that particular weakness of his for a long time. "Yes."

Shinra remembered something important. "Ah, what Kasuka-san isn't telling you is why the episode might have been taken off the air. To be perfectly clear, we knew that the man with the knife might make an appearance. He wrote the death threat online, and I quote, 'I am going to kill you. I know a girl whose life he ruined. I'll make him pay for what he did.' " Shinra made a face. "If it actually happened, then Kasuka might not have another chance to get the tape of this incident, and honestly this ought to be a happy memory since it's the first time Kasuka has returned to his hometown since his debut...oh...four years ago?"

Kasuka nodded confirmation.

_Oh, so maybe that's why he was able to "pretend" to be happy so easily... He was really was glad, not about the show, but just glad to be home._

"So he wanted to keep it. What Kasuka-kun's _also_ not telling you is that he's survived something like ten written intentions of death, only three of which ever made an appearance, and only one of which he was ever endangered by."

"This one," Kasuka said casually, by way of confirmation.

"Yes, the one in Ikebukuro, the home range of one Shizuo Heiwajima, the strongest and most loyal brother there—"

"Shut up." Kasuka elbowed Shinra, who started coughing.

"Yes, your lordship," Shinra croaked, and made a flourishing bow.

Kasuka actually scowled. "Stop that." He turned back to the camera. "I wanted a record of my brother—of what he is. Unfortunately, after viewing the footage for myself, I think it cannot sufficiently speak for itself."

"You got _that _in one. I think—" Shinra leaned forward and Kasuka efficiently elbowed him again. Shinra hurriedly got up and out of range. _"Aw, man, you're really being mean..."_ he whined from off-screen.

Kasuka sighed with relief. "In front of the video camera by myself, I can speak however I want. It's a miracle I actually got into LME like this, huh?" He laughed a little ruefully. "I've never told the newspapers, but Lory approached me; he went on my YouTube videos alone. Peculiar. I don't think I could have made it if I had to go through audition. If you know me at all it must be strange to see me this animated, I guess."

Tsuruga nodded silently. Kasuka wasn't acting in a way that he had ever seen in him before, and he was speaking in front of and even teasing Shinra, which meant that they must be close.

Kasuka jerked his head at his partner. "Meanwhile, Shinra-kun has a good heart, but he is overdramatic and he talks too much."

"WHAT!?"

Kasuka ignored him. "I believe that's why he's the only one my brother ever suffered to take with him when he went to watch me in the movie theaters. He's the only one whose arm he wouldn't feel guilty about breaking when he got to the scary parts." Kasuka's face was completely deadpan.

Shinra stepped into the screen with a cup of coffee in his hands. "_Sou desu yo ne..._" He straightened, eyes widening, and pointed to Kasuka in amazement. "That's true! You could be right, Kasuka-kun. How did you guess? _Un, un. _He definitely had it in him." Shinra closed his eyes and nodded confidently, almost proudly, reviewing his memories. Then he opened his eyes, put his coffee down, leaned towards the camera, and whispered, "He only broke my arm that once, though. Not at the theaters, though." He drew back and said to Kasuka, "Are you sure I was the only one he invited to go with him to the movie theaters?"

"..." Kasuka thought. "Yes."

"Hm, _sou_, puzzling that. He just offered one day—I think he was ecstatic that he could hold a job for so long, and he was in his first flush of money, so it was while he was working as a bartender—and I was a poor university student in pre-med, of course I couldn't turn him down, and I like watching Yuuhei Heiwajima as much as the next guy—"

Kasuka coughed meaningfully. Shinra picked up his coffee and obediently moved to the corner of the room, not facing the camera, only occasionally glancing back to see what Kasuka was doing.

"Please ignore him. If I gave this to you then I want you to know who my brother Shizuo really is. Maybe you've crossed paths with him. Maybe you haven't yet. Maybe you have questions about his past that you don't think you can ask him. Perhaps you are going to work with him. Maybe there's something you need that I haven't foreseen." He shrugged. "For some reason. So I shall tell you."

"Firstly...I love my brother, and he loves me with all of his heart, and especially, all of his strength. Hence what happened to the man with the knife."

"Secondly, my brother Shizuo is the strongest man in Ikebukuro. By a considerable margin. Specifically, Shizuo had his bones broken until they healed so strong that they just couldn't break anymore. He has a condition where his muscles release all of the power they have without the usual stops, and when he was young the strain was too much for his bones. Now that they bones are strong enough to allow the muscles to work at full capacity, Shizuo has a bad habit of throwing vending machines and street signs when he is angry. He could easily break a man with his hands but he usually doesn't."

"Usually?" Shinra objected from the corner of shame. He sipped his coffee.

Kasuka leaned back, talking to Shinra. "With his current job, I can't imagine that he hasn't." He sighed heavily. "He won't tell me much. I'm trying to be honest."

"Oh yeah, there was that guy who—"

"Shinra. You're not helping."

"Sorry. I do treat most of his—" Kasuka gave Shinra a significant look, and no more sound came out. Mutinously, he exaggeratedly mouthed his emphasis: _They get treated._

"_Thank! You_," Kasuka said, under his breath, quite aggrieved, and turned back to the camera. "Umm—"

"Thirdly," Shinra prompted.

"Thirdly, he has a hard time controlling himself..."

This time Shinra was pained. "Kasuka, that's true but I don't think that was what you meant to say next—"

"Yes, you're right, I lost my train of thought. Keep quiet, _okay?_" He took a moment to think. "Fourthly, and what I meant to say, is that he has an unmistakeable rivalry with Izaya Orihara. That's the guy in the black, in the video, whom he was chasing and throwing street debris at."

"I could tell you about that," said Shinra, somewhat tensely.

"Oh, go ahead," Kasuka said, frustrated. He jerked his seat back pointedly, opening his arms wide.

Shinra came closer. "We don't know how it started. They were both my friends, sort of, so I'm the best one to explain. We were in high school together. To my everlasting chagrin...I'm the one who introduced them."

"_Nobody_ could've anticipated it," Kasuka muttered.

"Then why do I still feel like I had something to do with it, something they never told me about?" Shinra hissed, and Kasuka opened his mouth to say, 'y_our imagination,'_ but Shinra steamrolled right over him. "Yes, well, they certainly did their very damnedest to kill each other." Shinra took a deep breath, staring sightlessly at the wall, not even trying to look at the camera. "Izaya was clever. He often sent, you know, _substitutes_ to subdue Shizuo. They had all kinds of excuses; Izaya was getting practice at manipulating people. And just to defend himself, Shizuo cut a bloody swath through all of them. He got to be an unstoppable fighter. So from then on, whenever they clapped eyes on each other, Shizuo went in pursuit of Izaya, and Izaya has always escaped. Usually Izaya starts it, but what does it matter? Sometimes Shizuo forgets to wait for provocation and just pelts after him." Shinra's face fell, and his voice lost its volume. "It always...it makes me feel sick to think of it. Like the floor is about to drop out from under me..."

"I know," said Kasuka in a low voice. "It never ends. They're too evenly matched. Unless one of them breaks a hip in a fall or something, and then it'll be..." he trailed off.

Shinra nodded and bit his lip.

They looked at the camera, equally grim, at exactly the same time.

At last, Kasuka spoke again. "There are two things you should learn from this. One, do not get between Shizuo and myself. Second, do not get between Shizuo and his predator-prey, Izaya Orihara, or vice versa."

Shinra broke in. "Of the two...Izaya is the easier to cross without even realizing it. Izaya is a schemer, and his favorite non-business-related target is Shizuo. Izaya owns an information brokerage, by the way." He sipped his coffee, looking unhappy. "He's always got a scheme going. The only advice I can give you when dealing with him...is not to ever become reliant on him, and try not to react in ways that he has trained himself to expect. Sometimes I wonder why I..." His voice dropped off. "Heaven knows I can't get rid of either of them."

Kasuka nodded silently.

Shinra spread his hands. "So here's the deal. If Shizuo starts acting strangely, the most likely explanation is that Izaya put something over his head, and Shizuo is trying to think his way out of it. Izaya is a skilled manipulator. It's true that Izaya knows how to trick him, but the truth is that a lot of times Shizuo takes the bait on purpose. Whatever he does after that is his own choice."

Kasuka broke in. "Shizuo told me that he can't save people from Izaya's meddling if he doesn't go down the same hole Izaya dug for them, because he can't outthink Izaya from the outset: he has to follow Izaya's twisted reasoning for a while before he can counter it and make his escape, not always unscathed."

"Unfortunately, because of that very reason, Izaya loves to torment Shizuo for his own amusement because he can't completely predict what Shizuo will do next." Shinra pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I know, that all sounded very confusing. Okay. Pretend that Shizuo is a lab rat, and he likes cheese. Izaya is always putting the lab rat through these mazes. Shizuo knows it's a maze; he doesn't like it, but he still wants the cheese. Izaya gets to see Shizuo's performance. He lets Shizuo have the cheese, for the time being. Now, if Shizuo gets a look at Izaya the lab rat scientist, he will try to bite him." Shinra closed his eyes. "Shizuo's particular brand of cheese, in this case, is _peace. _I know it doesn't look like that—Shizuo himself disturbs the peace, after all—but he wants to protect the peace of Ikebukuro in the long-term sense. Izaya is perfectly capable of trying to start a war, so he's partially justified."

"Other news sources that day claim that four, perhaps five factions of people ready to fight arrived in that city square after we stopped filming there. It was about the time when Simon turned off the camera. It almost turned into a bloodbath. According to Shizuo, the motives of all of those factions can be traced back to Izaya, such as the man with the knife, and possibly even so far as my return to Ikebukuro through LME," said Kasuka. "Izaya's always been quick to confess his deeds when confronted by Shizuo."

Shinra said, "The sad thing is that Shizuo won't be getting peace as long as Izaya is there in Ikebukuro. Shizuo basically halts every plan of his, but Izaya can always stir up more trouble elsewhere."

"Exactly. A perpetual cycle of problems." Kasuka cleared his throat. "That said... Shizuo is the one of the most loyal people you will ever meet in your entire life. If he likes you, he has your back. He doesn't care about the damage. He'll protect you." Kasuka was absolutely certain. He had good reason to be.

"Here's a tip. He has a bad habit of judging people if he gets within speaking distance of hearing somebody's sorry love story. He never could stand that," Shinra offered whimsically. "_Especially_ after high school."

Kasuka shot him a look. "What Shinra-kun meant to say is that he's sincere and very passionate about his beliefs."

"Mmphf. Political correctness."

"He also hasn't been able to hold a job since Izaya framed him while he was still working as a bartender."

"He still wears those outfits you gave him for that," Shinra cut at him, slyly.

"Alas, consistency was a forlorn wish, it seems, but not one I have given up," Kasuka sighed dramatically.

"Great, now you've just ruined his salaryman prospects," Shinra said, and then muttered, "You'd think he could do something with his college education..."

"I tried, I tried, I really did..."

"There's very little you can do when you're only in this side of the city in person only once every couple years!"

"I know, but every time I come back there's been a major change!" Kasuka looked frustrated. "I can't keep up! And even when I am there...we barely talk!"

"He loves you so much." Shinra clamped a hand on Kasuka's shoulder, which seemed to help him focus.

"I know. Me too." Kasuka closed his eyes. "Look. What we're trying to say here...and making a mess of...is that Shizuo has a big heart."

"We are?"

"Well, he does. He just doesn't know it. He has more compassion than he knows what to do with; more nobility and honor than Izaya has in his funny bone—"

Shinra made a face as if he would like to disagree but didn't object.

"—more anger than he knows how to deflect; and more strength than he can control. The fact that he is at the mercy of his instincts will continue to cause him distress until he learns to make his peace with his strength. It bothers him." Kasuka sighed, and gestured. "So please, forgive him. As his younger brother, he worries me a lot. With my work, there's not much I can do. He needs help to conquer the obstacles in front of him. He needs friends who try to understand him, and stand by him, because in the end he's just your average guy who makes mistakes. We've tried to be brutally honest in telling you that there are plenty of reasons why it might be better to steer clear of him. So now that you know what you are getting into, I am formally asking you to be someone to help him through it."

"_Y__oroshiku onegaishimasu_!" they both yelled, backs ramrod straight, and bowed to the camera.

The video ended.

* * *

Yashiro-san covered his eyes with his hands. "That certainly clarified things."

"Life enemies," Tsuruga groaned. "What am I going to tell Kyoko?"

"The truth."

"Why are they here together?"

"For unfathomable reasons, it seems," said Yashiro. "So Izaya has something over Shizuo's head?"

"That doesn't sound good."

Yashiro was forced to agree. "Do you believe Kasuka?"

"Beyond a doubt. He's the most honest guy I know, off the set." Tsuruga raked his hand through his hair. He laughed briefly. "Then again he never says much of anything, so why would he lie? Still, I think he's right. His plea is real. Kyoko called the other day to tell me that she talked to Heiwajima Shizuo and told me that he wasn't a bad guy, that Maria-chan helped her talk to him and that she wasn't afraid of him."

"Good for Maria-chan." Yashiro sighed and sat back. "Then it comes down to Izaya, doesn't it?"

"It certainly seems that way."

* * *

The next day, Tsuruga called Kyoko to meet him at work.

"_Ohaiyo gozaimasu_, Tsuruga-san."

"_Ohaiyo_. Mogami-san, how has work been lately?"

She smiled tentatively. "It's been fine. Izaya hasn't come near us."

"Oh? Why's that?"

Kyoko shrugged. "Maybe because Shizuo-kun works with us."

Tsuruga sputtered a laugh. "That would do it. I think. Should I call off the investigation?"

Kyoko pressed her lips together. Then she shook her head. "I'm sure of Shizuo-kun. But I still don't trust Izaya, and I'd like to know why. You remember. Shizuo-kun never actually did anything, or even said much, to me. Izaya, on the other hand..."

"Is too much of a threat."

"That makes me sound terrible and paranoid and overly cautious, but yes. Why are you asking? Did you find out anything untoward about Shizuo-kun?"

Tsuruga avoided her eyes. "Yes. No. He's fine. I decided— Urgh. I can't lie, can I?" A faint worried line appeared on Kyoko's brow, and Tsuruga hurried to correct himself. "Sorry. Now that makes me sound suspicious, doesn't it? You know that Shizuo-kun is very strong."

Kyoko crossed her arms, and let her balance sway to and fro. "Yes. Strong enough to throw a vending machine, and strong enough to survive being run over by a truck."

Tsuruga winced. "I wish I didn't know."

"Me, too." Kyoko brooded. "But stunt people have to be strong, though, don't they?" Kyoko said distantly. "President Takarada told me that he's thinking about sending him to stuntman school, and afterwards, apprenticing him. At his own expense, no less."

Tsuruga blinked. "That's...very generous of him." In fact, although the President was generous in all instances, he had never heard of Lory going out quite so far on a limb for anyone.

"I know. It's a better deal than I got. Not that I'm ungrateful, or anything." Kyoko looked a bit embarrassed. "It _is_ better for me this way in the long run. I'm earning my way slowly...it's just, it's hard. So. What did you learn?"

"Other than that...be careful of his relationship with Izaya. It's volatile. And no one knows why they are like that." Tsuruga shifted his stance a little. "Do you want to sit down?"

"_Eh_? Sure, that would be fine. Are you tired?"

Tsuruga shrugged. _Typical_, thought Kyoko. Tsuruga led them both to a small bench at the end of the stairwell.

Tsuruga told her, "I'm glad you're friends with Shizuo-kun. It seems that he needs them."

"Really? But he's such a nice guy. He should have tons of friends. All the OLs, I mean, the office ladies and the receptionists here like him. It's depressing. They'll probably get all jealous of me, like they did over Sho..." Kyoko sighed and muttered agressively, "And he's also a blond, to boot." Her expression soured. She really didn't relish being put in that position again. True, now she had Moko so she wouldn't be alone in the friendship department, but what if she wanted to make another friend and they were already envious of Shizuo or something...?

"People aren't fair, are they?"

Kyoko looked at him. "No, they really aren't." She wondered what he was leading up to.

But he wasn't leading up to anything, just commiserating. Tsuruga suddenly had a thought. "Hey, Kyoko. This is a very rude question to ask, but if you will permit me...?" Kyoko nodded, and Tsuruga continued. "Didn't your experience with Fuwa put you off men at all? I'd have thought...it's just, it's a stereoptype that someone who gets jilted develops a complex and refuses to have anything to do with men at all, and yet..."

"No." Kyoko's brow furrowed in thought. "I guess not. I mean, everyone is so different. I couldn't begin to generalize, that would be stupid. I was scared of you at first, but you weren't so bad after all. And Sawara-san, Takarada-sama, the various directors I've met...they're decent." She sniffed. "Even Sho. In the beginning. I wouldn't have...not if..." She was just about to cry.

_This is no good,_ Tsuruga thought with dread. Sneaking a glance at everyone else, he leaned forward and clasped Kyoko's hands. Yes, there was Moko-chan coming to work; she glared at him as she passed them on the stairwell. Luckily Kyoko didn't notice. He focused on their hands; Kyoko's fingers were tight and trembling in his grip. "Kyoko-chan."

"_Eh_?" She hiccuped, and her shoulders shook and her hands involuntarily jerked a little in his grip.

Did she always do that? It was endearing. He found himself smiling a little, the first genuine smile in a while, and quickly had to hide it.

"You've known Sho Fuwa for a long time, haven't you?"

She nodded, sniffing again. Her voice peaked at a high, strained squeak. "Since I was a kid. Sho's parents took care of me...most of the time... My mother..." She shook her head. "Sho's parents took care of a _ryokan_. I learned everything from them."

"So that's why you are so formal all the time."

"I suppose." Kyoko was bleak. "They wanted me and Sho together. But they probably didn't w-want us to do it the way we d-did it..."

"What do you mean?"

"They wanted me to take over the inn. But Sho didn't want the _ryokan_. He wanted to break into music. They were sorry they indulged him so much as a child, then. And in the end I chose Sho over their dreams. I don't know what they think of me now. At the time I didn't realize that they were training me to take over. I can't think what would have happened if I'd known..." She looked at her lap. "When I finally figured it out, it was the night after I twisted my ankle and took that stupid dare to act a better Cinderella than that other girl. If you remember."

Tsuruga remembered she had been acting strange. Strange in a way that wasn't unusual, actually, now that he knew her better. So this was what she had been thinking about. "Might...might they be worried about you?" Tsuruga asked tentatively.

Kyoko shrugged tiredly. "They were never _that_ affectionate. I don't know. It's possible, I guess. But what could I say to them now? Even if they took me back, I don't want the _ryokan._ I'm going to be an actor."

Tsuruga stroked the top of her hands with his thumbs. She squeezed her hands in response. Somewhat embolded, Tsuruga asked again, "What was Sho like? When he was young and you still thought he was nice?"

"Stupid. Idiotic. Silly. Always ordering me around. He listened to me even if he didn't understand what I was saying. I knew what he liked. I could make him smile. He was well-intentioned even though he never really understood what it was I needed. Or really tried to." She moaned. "I was so _stupid_. He never loved me, he just took me for granted. He was so _selfish. _Why didn't I realize earlier that he was no good for me?"

To that, Tsuruga had no response.

* * *

Of course it was just then that President Lory Takarada took the opportunity to swoop down on them like a hawk that has spotted its prey. That particular metaphor was apt because he was covered in feathers—brown ones, nothing gaudy, although Tsuruga wouldn't have been surprised. He wondered if he was cosplaying something. It was unlike Lory to wear costumes that didn't have a focused theme, and involved a lot of people...

Lory always had to have the first and the last word. "Good morning, Tsuruga-san!"

"Good morning, President."

They looked at Kyoko, who was staring at her hands, which were still held by Tsuruga. It was too late to drop them. They had been seen. "Oh!" She gave a little start and looked back at them. "_Ah_. Good morning, President." She smiled brightly, pretending not to notice anything wrong.

Tsuruga winced. She could hardly be more transparent. Inside, she was probably completely embarrassed and mentally beating herself up for not acting like a proper, respectable, modest Japanese girl. She was still this innocent. Tsuruga had been trying to distract her from it...

The President, for his part, was positively smug. "Tsuruga my boy, you are doing an excellent job of working your way back onto the tabloids. Keep up the good work!"

Kyoko blinked at him, not quite sure if she had heard what he had said.

By way of explanation, Lory said, "Tsuruga-san has been such a good boy over the years that there hasn't been any speculation at all on who his next girlfriends might be. Not enough evidence, you see. The reporters will be rabid when they hear that—"

Tsuruga broke in loudly. "What the President means to say is that I haven't been romantic enough in my younger years and so no one will expect me to have a—"

"You're only twenty-one, Tsuruga-san. So naïve. That kind of speculation doesn't end until you hit your late sixties."

"Likely as not I will not be acting in my late sixties," Tsuruga objected, chuckling nervously and hoping to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.

"Then you should resign yourself to the fact that the tabloids will have a vested interest in you for the entirety of your career! Be so kind as to stay full in the public eye, would you? Stairwells have eyes." Lory winked.

"At least there aren't any ears," Tsuruga muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lory Takarada laughed. "What were you talking about? Pish-posh." Having given his message, such as it was, he flounced away.

And all this just to raise Tsuruga's hackles.

Whatever Kyoko had gotten out of this, it was confused. "Tsuruga-san! Don't worry! I'll protect your reputation!" Kyoko pumped her fists.

Tsuruga's jaw dropped. _I forgot, again, how impervious she is..._ Now how would he convince her otherwise? Better be direct. And literal.

"Mogami-san, that is _not_ what I want you to do," Tsuruga-san said firmly. "The President told me that he thinks it's suspicious and concerning that I haven't had any romantic relationships. He thinks it'll affect my acting. Do you remember when I froze up doing Katsuki? If I end up on a few tabloids that would make him happy. Honestly, he's overreacting!"_ It's his ridiculously overblown way of encouraging us, but I don't think it will help my suit if I tell her that. I wish he'd ignore us._ So Tsuruga thought, and he continued, "We were just holding hands, _no_ bloody-minded reporter is going to be interested in that. Anyway, _your_ reputation is more important than mine. Now, where were we...?"

"You're not a Casanova, right." Kyoko frowned. "Um... Before that, I don't remember."

Probably a good thing. "Then let's change the subject," Tsuruga said, and did.

* * *

Shizuo had seen the whole thing from his post on the floor just above. "Takarada-sama, that was very confusing, sir," said Shizuo, leaning on his mop. He rested his head on his hands on the point of the handle.

"He's the kind of guy who needs both the brakes and the gas on going full blast before can loosen up and be able to go anywhere." Lory shrugged. "If you'd seen Tsuruga's history as I have..."

"Ah. Yes, his file didn't exactly have enough information on it, _did_ he?" Shizuo's face twisted bizarrely in a way that looked vaguely disturbing.

Lory picked it up immediately. "Quit that or I will rent out your services to some cheapskate horror movie."

The expression disappeared and Shizuo had a bit of trouble balancing while leaning on the mop handle. "I'm fine with that. I'm already a monster," Shizuo pointed out, as it it was completely natural to think such a thing.

Lory had just been joking. Lory was unexpectedly saddened by that admission, although he did not find it particularly astonishing—especially in light of Shizuo's behavior after he pushed Lory into the pool. "On second thought, I need to send you to boot camp."

Shizuo let go of the broom handle and stood back upright. "What? I am not going anywhere near the military, thank you very much!" The mop handle clattered to the floor. Shizuo leaned over to pick it up.

"_Tashikani_, they'd never let you leave, would they?" Lory said, a bit sadly. "Too strong."

"Probably." Shizuo straightened. "Yuuhei made me promise that was one job I'd never take up."

Lory nodded. "He's probably right. I'm glad you listen to your brother."

Shizuo jerked a little and looked away, embarassed.

"It's not military, Shizuo. It's for stunt people. They teach you the basics, and at the end of it, if an experienced stunt person likes your skills, they will take you on as their apprentice. At that point you will have an almost guaranteed job for five years at our agency."

"Five...years?" Shizuo nearly dropped the mop handle again. His face radiated with hope.

Lory nodded. "It's unusual, I know, so why would anyone look for it? But stunt work is difficult and the apprentices need some stability that usually isn't there at the beginning. Stunt men need to build their own careers, too."

"Wow."

"I know. That's why LME is the best agency around!" Lory said with his customary exuberance.

"It's just such a risk, though..." Shizuo looked at the floor and toyed with the mop in his hands.

"Shizuo-kun, let _me_ worry about the business," Lory Takarada chided.

Immediately reminded that he had gone too far, Shizuo snapped to attention. "Yes, of course, President."

"Do your best. _Ganbare_!" Lory pumped one fist demonstratively.

"_Hai!_" Shizuo began once again to mop feverishly.


	15. Break 7

Break #7: In which Celty Pranks Friends, Laughs Herself Sick, and Invites Near Strangers to Her Wedding (Part 2)

Celty's motorbike was anxious to run the next day. Celty changed back into her black suit, and spent some time driving around her apartment just to calm her bike down. It would suddenly surge forward and try to steal some speed before Celty applied the brakes. The first few minutes of every morning were always bumpy, but Celty thought her bike was trying to make a _point_ that day. Good thing she didn't bruise easily. Eventually the bike submitted to her will and she dared to venture into the city.

I still have so many people to prank, Celty thought. I've done Izaya and Namie...Kadota's gang...Shizuo...Simon...Anri...who else?

Only Seiji and Mika and Masaomi and Mikado didn't know by now. Them, and the streetside artist that Shinra had originally pegged as drawing Dullahans. It would be good to close the loop there.

The only place where Celty knew where to find them was the park with the fountains, so she went there, parked her bike, and ordered a take-out ramen lunch to eat. She waited, watched, and munched.

It was a Friday, so not many Raira students were here—it was still morning.

There were some choir singers who had taken up part of the park to practice. It sounded pretty. Some of the songs were in English. A few were even familiar and made Celty a little nostalgic for Ireland. It was strange. Where was she when she heard these songs? She knew she wasn't supposed to hear, back then, but it was so silly that humans believed that the people of the twilight couldn't take an interest, or that they were too far gone to appreciate it, when the music was so beautiful... And vaguely, vaguely, Celty felt that what they sang of had once been more familiar to her, and dearly important.

There was the woman who came to the park to improve her Japanese. She _had_ improved greatly since she first came here, and even since that time when she had been looking for "lost things" and Celty had written the kanji for "head," 首, on her signboard. That must have been a puzzle for the woman, now that she thought about it. What _would _the woman have understood? Perhaps she thought it was an idiom or joke of some kind, as if Celty had lost her "sense," but Celty was being quite literal. Celty wondered what other people had written there: keys, surely; other people; jackets; glasses; and other articles... The woman stood there at the edge of the park, talking and joking with people whom she recognized. She seemed innately happy. The word that first came to her mind whenever she looked at that woman was "gutsy," and she always felt a little confused by that; but although the word was vulgar, it wasn't a bad thing in this woman. Celty wondered if she would have the courage to do anything of the kind if she went to another country. Probably not... She really should talk to her. Another day...

Actually, what if she explained it to the woman now?

"Sorry, but... um... do you remember that day when you were writing down the names for lost things?"

"Ah. Yes, I remember. That was a very interesting day!"

"Um." Celty rubbed the back of her neck. "Do you remember...my word was _kubi_, wasn't it? The word for head, 首. I guess that's kind of strange..."

"Yeah. I wondered when I came across it," said the woman.

"Well...I...I found it," said Celty.

"_Really_? What do you mean?"

"I'm the _Kurobaikaa_ you've probably been hearing about. You know, dresses in black and is never seen without a yellow cat helmet? My head has always been separated from my body for as long as I can remember—I know that quite clearly, now—because I'm a Dullahan, but someone stole my head many years ago and I came to Japan to look for it."

"Oh yes, I've heard of you. Seen you, actually—weren't you the one who drove that motorcycle up the wall, that one time? Hmm. I've never heard of a Dullahan before."

"Yeah, it's not a very famous type of magical creature. Even in Europe. You're not surprised?"

"No, I've seen a lot of interesting things. Have you heard of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow?"

"Nope."

"I swear I saw it once. Hey, can I see your head? I'll be careful."

"You mean, take it off?"

"Yeah, why not? You can hold it. I just want to look."

"Sure." _I showed Mikado last year, because he asked too. I was surprised he was as stoic as he was. Oh, but then I was really headless. I wonder..._ "Come into the shade. I don't want to startle the other people here." Celty unwound the scarf from her neck, lifted her head from her shoulders and held it out to the woman.

She gasped with excitement and bent to study it. She seemed entranced. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Celty half-smiled. "Yes, my boyfriend often says so. Lately, anyway."

"Boyfriend? Who?"

"Shinra Kishitani, you must have seen him. He's a doctor." Celty left out the part that he mostly worked underground for fishy pharmaceutical companies like Namie's and fixed up people with no insurance, who were mostly yakuza or gang people...

"He's the one with the lizard hair, isn't he?" The woman sculpted the shape around her own hair with her hands.

Celty chuckled. "And the white labcoat, and quite possibly a stethoscope hanging around his neck, also. Hey, would you like to come to the wedding? It's sure to be interesting." She said it on the spur of the moment. She rather liked the woman.

"Really? Could I? It would be okay?"

"Yes, sure, come. It might not be as interesting as you think, Shinra probably is thinking of a Western wedding..."

"That's fine, I can't believe it!"

"Then let's be friends."

"Yes! Do you know the date?"

Celty shrugged. "No, we don't know. We haven't decided still. Hey, if you come, here's what you can do for me: I have a friend who doesn't have many connections right now. She's a very interesting person, though, so if you can become her friend, then that would be great. I'm sure you'll hit it off..."

They parted ways and Celty returned to her park spot. School got out and the Raira high school students began to flood the park.

And there they were—Anri, Mikado, and Masaomi, flitting about the golden edges of the park as they were lit by the afternoon sun above, talking and laughing guiltily because they really ought to be getting home, but they were so anxious to be together. Anri was the first to see Celty, a sliver of shadow at the edge of the trees, and she was the first to slip away, while Mikado and Masaomi seemed to be coming towards Celty.

Celty circled around them, and coming from behind, she spoke strongly. "Mikado."

Mikado stopped, and his weight snapped a twig underfoot. Masaomi froze beside him, tense.

"Do you remember me?"

Mikado shook his head silently. "I don't recognize..."

"You asked something of me once. You asked to see what was under my helmet."

Mikado whipped around. "The Black Rider?" He grabbed Mikado's elbow, alarmed.

And there she was, black leather jumpsuit and yellow cat-helmet, poised, her posture casual and wry as usual.

"I have something to show you," she said.

Alarm bells instantly went off in their heads. Mikado gulped, and Masaomi frowned. Mikado said, mouth dry, "You've never spoken to me before. You've always typed into your cell phone..."

Celty inclined her head, and began to pull off her yellow helmet, pressing delicately from the bottom, negotiating with friction, revealing her face inch by inch. Scarf—black and sparkling—chin—lips—nose—eyelids, eyebrows, forehead—

Mikado stood there, entranced, eyes wide and staring. Masaomi squeezed Mikado's forearm a little tighter.

At last Celty swept the helmet from her head, and light-brown hair fell to her shoulders.

Mikado blinked once, bewildered, and fainted dead away. Masaomi struggled to keep Mikado's body from falling over and injuring itself and kept glancing confusedly from Mikado to Celty, who was gulping with hysterical laughter.

"You're the Black Rider?"

Celty bowed slightly.

Masaomi growled, "What the hell—"

Celty turned slightly pink. "He didn't even react when I was still headless," she giggled.

"He saw you when you were headless?!"

"Yes–"

"And it's _now_ that he faints?!" Masaomi shouted in consternation.

Celty sat down on the wet earth and whooped with laughter, holding her sides together.

"Blimey!" Masaomi snapped, "Are you irresponsible or what?" because he didn't know what else to say, and laid Mikado down beside the woman.

Celty howled harder.

"So you weren't headless to begin with?" Masaomi said gruffly.

"Yes. It was stolen from me in Ireland—"

"Hold it right there. I don't want to know," said Masaomi, holding out one hand as a stop sign dramatically.

Celty smiled, and it wavered like a reflection on water. "You are probably wise."

Masaomi snorted. "Not wise. But I'm not a complete naive idiot like this guy." He shook Mikado's shoulder impatiently.

Mikado was finally starting to come around. "Ah, urgh—" he groaned. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Masaomi told him grumpily.

"Really? I'm sorry. Why—" he remembered. "Oh. _Celty-san_."

"You know her proper name?" Masaomi's voice sounded strange.

"Um. Yeah," Mikado murmured, and tried to get up. "Where is she?"

Celty shifted her position and knelt by Mikado's head. "Right here."

"Oh. You look really nice..." said Mikado.

Celty shrugged. "Thanks, I guess."

"Really...different. Sorry I fainted on you. It was just so strange... I promise I'll get used to it."

Celty chuckled. "Oh, Mikado. Kiddo, you're the only one who thinks that, believe me."

"Hey, _nee_, Celty-san. This must be a strange question to come up with—so suddenly, but do you ever—do you want to be anonymous?" Mikado asked.

"Sometimes," said Celty.

"Okay." Mikado closed his eyes. "I thought so... I won't reveal your identity."

"Thanks. _Arigatou_, Mikado-kun." Celty made as if to get up.

"Celty, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm not sure that Mikado can make it home on his own," Masaomi interjected, a little too patiently. "Can you give Mikado a ride on your bike?"

"As you wish," said Celty, trying to look contrite, and so she did. She chatted with Masaomi while she pushed the bike with Mikado seated slumped over the handlebars, and they parted amiably at the boys' apartment. She told them, "Come to my wedding. You, Masaomi, Mikado, and Anri." They promised they would.

* * *

Celty dressed in her new clothes the next day, once again, after doing some errands and went out to the park late in the day, hoping to catch a little of the magic of the previous day. It wasn't to be, but she sat down, relaxed and listened to the water flowing from the fountains anyway. The peaceful, even, quiet sound made it easier to clear her head and forget about her worries. But time had passed and now it was very near to dark. She should probably be going home about now.

She looked up and she saw Saika, no, Anri Sonohara, was staring at her from across the park. When their eyes met, Anri's eyes flared red for an instant, but the glow faded quickly.

Celty had been recognized. She uncrossed her legs and waited.

Anri looked away quickly and glanced at the boys on either side of her. Then she made a decision. She nudged them, excused herself with a small bow, and skipped over to stand over Celty, looking uncertain and hesitant. The boys turned, wondering, to watch her, then shrugged and went on their way: Anri must have her reasons.

"_Doumo_," Anri said softly. "How do you do." She studied Celty's face, her own expression serious. She seemed a little perplexed at what she found there, but otherwise, did not react.

"Fine. And you?" said Celty, standing.

"I am doing well."

Celty sensed that wasn't exactly the case, but it was still the truth as far as Anri was concerned. Anri always seemed ill-at-ease. Some trauma in her past, like whatever bound her to Saika, would probably make normal parameters of need and stress hard to judge.

"Would you like me to walk you home while we talk?" asked Celty. "It's very late."

"If you would. Please," said Anri quietly. "It is always so late when we see each other."

"So it seems. But then, we are people of the twilight, after all."

Anri bit her lip and didn't answer; instead, she said abruptly, "I felt it when you reclaimed your head."

That made Celty feel anxious. "Oh...yes...I'm sorry. You did, didn't you? Did it hurt terribly? I never thought about what the resurgence of the bond would do to Saika."

Anri's eyes glowed red, remembering. "Yes. It hurt. It was like a rubber band, snapping. It's all right. But the sting has gone." The brightness faded to a dull brick red.

But Celty wondered. _I don't envy her the mental backlash. _"And Saika? How is she?"

It was, perhaps, the wrong question to ask. Then again, it might have been the right one. For a moment Celty thought Anri was about to attack her. Her eyes flashed cherry-red, and Saika slid from her right palm. But Anri grabbed her right arm with her left and mastered herself just barely; the only evidence of the faltering of her control was a slight trip in her step, and she kept walking and put her eyes on the road ahead. A sheen of sweat shone on her neck.

"Is it hard for you to be with me right now?" Celty asked her.

"Yes," Anri ground out, between her teeth. A sheen of sweat slicked her forehead.

"You shouldn't worry. Saika can cut me, but she can't infect me." Celty was pretty sure of that. Certainly the daughters of Saika had no power over her, and Celty couldn't understand how Saika could have severed her head without her knowledge without it making an attempt to infect her. Which meant that the infection attempt must have failed. If there was a reason for that, Celty suspected that it was because she wasn't one of Saika's beloved humans.

"I know...that's why she's..." Anri suddenly clenched her jaw.

"No, what I mean is, that's why _you_ don't have to worry. Rest easy. Relax, girl."

A line furrowed between Anri's eyebrows, then disappeared. She relaxed slightly. "I see." If she lost control, it wouldn't hurt Celty, nor anyone else walking the streets here.

"So...you wanted to talk to me, that much was clear. Is something bothering you?"

"Masaomi's come back."

"You've talked about the incident with the Dollars and the Yellow Squares...?"

Anri shook her head.

"Then you should," said Celty quietly.

"You're right," said Anri. "And I keep trying, but they won't reply, or look at each other straight in the face."

"Perhaps you need some outside support," Celty suggested.

"Like what?" Anri's brow wrinkled.

"Talk to Simon about it. He'd be glad to help. He can listen—or prod the boys into spilling their guts. I've seen him at peace talks. He knows what he's doing."

"I wouldn't go that far..."

"But Masaomi-kun and Ryuugamine-kun would both accept that, right? Dinner at Russian Sushi? But here's the real reason I suggest it: the truth is, even if the three of you weren't at war, the respective organizations that you three represent almost came to blows."

Anri flinched.

"You are all leaders, and Masaomi and Ryuugamine need to behave as such. As adults. I know that smarts, but you need to learn when to get help, and when to face the facts."

"Thanks," said Anri slowly. "I'll do that."

"I'm glad. I know you can." Celty's face softened with fondness. "I hate to see the three of you so vulnerable."

Anri smiled. She didn't really know why, but with Celty, Anri didn't feel like a _kiseijuu_, a parasite. Celty made her feel like her favors were a gift, not a theft. Anri wondered at it.

They reached Anri's home, and Celty saw her inside to her apartment; and then she left, speeding off into the night. Had she remembered, she would have invited Anri to her wedding, but had forgotten.

* * *

"Mikado-kun!" A honey-blond kid yelled from across the street and sprinted over the scramble crosswalk to the park. Mikado turned around just in time to duck as Masaomi tackled him. "Aaaah!"

"_Mou_, I saw that TV spot of yours—" Masaomi latched himself onto Mikado's neck. "—illegally posted on YouTube!"

"We were on television?" said Mikado, struggling. "Why illegally...?"

"_Yessss_, you and Anri. With Kaaaasssuuuukkaaa Haaanejiiiiimaaaa! Weren't you? Don't you remember? Whatcha talkin' about?"

"Oh, yes. That," said Mikado, finding his balance again.

"'_That.'_ That's all you can say, '_that._' What's this codswallop about you not being able to start something without me, eh? _Baka_!" Masaomi reached out and lightly mussed Mikado's hair.

Mikado winced. "Get off, Anri will think weird things about me. She's standing right over there, you know! —Well, I couldn't! It didn't feel right!" As quickly as Masaomi had mussed his hair up, Mikado smoothed the uneven spikes that Masaomi had made. He scowled.

"Come _on_. Me'n Saki skipped out of town, never gave a thought to the two of you, so why shouldn't you have gone out and been selfish? For once? Saki and I went to Tokyo Disneyland, and the ocean, and ate like a ton of crab one day, and—" Masaomi kept babbling enthusiastically. "We were watching gulls fly on the sea when the Ikebukuro special came on! Saki showed me on her phone!"

"Erm..."

"Well, in any case, I'm not interested in Anri. I only looked out for her because she was clearly in trouble with that creepy teacher. And you liked her. I love Saki, I have since... I don't even remember, it's been so long... So do what you please. Okay? Clear?" Masaomi bopped Mikado on the head.

"Yes. All clear." Mikado rubbed the spot.

"Okay!"

"Speaking of which, where is Saki?"

"She went to go speak to Simon at Russian Sushi," Masaomi answered, and blathered, "She doesn't know you guys, I have to introduce her and she felt awkward and she has some things to discuss with Simon, like I said. She wanted us to get things straight first which was quite easy to do, don't you think. Didja know Izaya is on the move?"

"Oh..." said Mikado. "I thought he disappeared. Why would he be on the move?"

"Retreat is movement!"

"Masaomi-kun?" Anri asked shyly.

"Anri-chan," Masaomi rejoined.

"Um," Anri turned pink, but she set out determinedly, "You left very quickly after, um, you know. The Yellow Scarves meeting. I think we need to all talk about what happened there. And not online either. Of course that helps but it's really not...not the same. We need to talk. Because we don't know who we are."

This time, Masaomi wasn't so enthusiastic. He glanced at Mikado; Mikado was staring a hole into the pavement. Finally, he sighed and scuffed the ground, clearly unhappy. "All right. We'll head over to Russian Sushi, meet Saki, and talk there. All right? Saki must've known our problems were bigger than I wanted to admit."

"I wouldn't say _problem,_" Mikado put in. "We're having _communication issues,_ that's all."

Masaomi rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, Masaomi-kun, Mikado-kun," said Anri, and smiled a little. The smile made her face seem softer.

"Celty has invited us all to her wedding. Can you come?" asked Mikado, a little awkwardly.

Anri dipped her head, surreptitiously taking Mikado's hand, and squeezed. "Yes."

* * *

That night Celty received a visitor shortly after dinner, and for some reason Shinra was having breakfast dessert.

He didn't knock, or ring the doorbell. He opened the door, stepped in, and sloughed off his shoes. "Yo." He saluted. The blond hair made it immediately obvious who the visitor was. "Looks like it's going to rain," he commented.

"Aaaah, Heiwajima-san," Shinra sang, pouring a box of rice krispies cereal and splashing it with too much milk, as usual. "Come in~~~! Did you know—"

"You've been engaged," Shizuo interrupted, to save himself the trouble of listening to Shinra.

"Ah, _how'd _you guessss—?" Shinra whined, clutching his heart.

"You left me a slightly hysterical and possibly drunken message on my answering machine..." Shizuo rolled his eyes. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out from whom." Shizuo took another step inside and craned his neck. "Celty, if I may ask—"

Celty popped her head into the kitchen and said, "Yes? _Hai?_"

Shizuo whipped his head around to see her face, and was felled by the shock. He slipped on the slick floor of the _genkan_, tried to catch the molding on the sides of the doorframe, and landed on his back with a thud. Shizuo groaned, loudly.

In the kitchen, Shinra winced and scurried to help him up. Shinra mouthed at Celty to stay where she was. Celty did, though she was slightly confused.

Finally Shizuo clomped into the kitchen and sat down to rest against the island counter, rubbing his lower back with his hand. "Damn flea," he muttered. He was trying to conceal the fact that he was carefully avoiding looking at Celty.

"What now?" asked Celty, resigned.

"Oh, Izaya-kun decided he just _had_ to jump on my back during auditions a couple weeks ago. It cracked."

Shinra squinted. "And it still hurts?"

"Well, what do YOU think!?" Shizuo roared, imitating nothing so much as a bellowing T-Rex, rising awkwardly from his crouch. "I fell, and _I was just starting to feel better_!"

"Definitely hurts," said Shinra nasally, and bit his tongue in concentration as he stared at Shizuo. Shizuo's movements were unbalanced.

"You're staring. Stop that," Shizuo said irritably.

"Oh, come on. You know you can't afford a regular doctor right now," Shinra muttered, still studying Shizuo's stance, and suddenly shot out his arm and stabbed him in just the right muscle.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHH!" Shizuo yelled, flailing, and he jerked forwards to crash over the kitchen sink, breathing hard.

Shinra ducked and skipped behind the kitchen island, barely avoiding Shizuo's involuntary swipe. "You see? No doctor would tolerate that kind of treatment, Shizuo-kun. They'd think you meant it. Lucky you've got me. Now, I think you've sustained an injury to your..." Shinra began chattering in his best medical-speak, weaving around the kitchen, a safe distance away from Shizuo's reach, until Shizuo's eyes glazed over. "Okay, so at the end of it, you need to avoid pulling yourself up with your arms, like this, you see—" Shinra demonstrated pathetically. "Or, you know, no climbing trees, ropes, pulling things from above, et cetera _et_ _cetera_, are you _listening_, Shizuo-kun?"

Of course he wasn't.

Shinra bounced on his toes. "Well at any rate, don't do any of that and you'll heal up good as new in three weeks. Aren't you happy, old boy, old pal? Just for comparison, most people would take six months—"

Shizuo growled. "How am I going to stay away from Izaya for three weeks?"

"Oh. Better make it four, then," said Shinra, deflating, and he flung himself into a chair so that it slid backwards and hit the dining table.

Celty sighed, which drew Shizuo's attention to her again.

He dropped his gaze very quickly, and stared at Celty's feet. "You've got your head back," he mumbled, and glanced up. Just once, but looking into her eyes was heady. One glance sent him reeling, almost physically knocked him back and then when he recovered, he realized he was overcome with—with _shyness_. It made him feel unstable—so _anxious_—as if he were about to fly into pieces. It was not like his anger, which coldly and ferociously split him apart and oriented the shards of himself in one deadly direction: this was different. No. Shizuo did not understand it, but he knew something inside was close to breaking. His hands began to shake.

And suddenly Shizuo saw it, eyes affixed to the kitchen linoleum floor, in a single image: Celty's face, beaming, but obscured by a wedding veil. The facts that he knew, but hadn't let himself accept. Celty had her head. She was about to be married.

It hadn't been real, before. Although he had passed on Izaya's hints as advice to Celty, he hadn't believed Izaya, not even for a single moment. He hadn't dreamed that Celty would succeed. Celty was always searching and searching for her head. She had no time for anything else. And then she fell in love with Shinra; and that was all right, because she was still searching, she was still restless, and there were times when anyone could sense the raw chasm between them when Shinra's priorities didn't exactly align with Celty's. And then she agreed to marry Shinra, and Shizuo still was not alarmed. Why would, why should, Shizuo be worried? She was still herself, she was still Celty; she couldn't go through with it. But then— And now her head had come back, and there was nothing to keep her from the happiness she had striven for so long. She would change after that. How could anyone not change because of that? She would be happy with Shinra. She would want for nothing, not even—not even—

What would he do without her friendship?

"Aye," Celty broke in softly. "Thanks to you."

It took him a moment to remember that she was alluding to when he had given her the clue that led her to reunite with head.

It was too much. She was too _kind, _too humble_. _She raised him up, which only made him feel more panicked, pathetic, insignificant and undeserving in every way. Shizuo's eyes shot back up to meet hers, about to deny it, deny everything, and his face crumpled. "Don't mind me," Shizuo said gruffly, and swiped his eyes. "I had nothing to do with..." His voice trailed away. He hunched over, touched the wall—not leaning, but touching, groping towards something solid that would not fall away.

This was impossible, impossible, impossible.

Celty shook her head slowly.

"I think...I love...your eyes are very beautiful." His own eyes filled with tears, and Shizuo swiped them away, again, with his sleeve, so that he would not have to look into her eyes. He found it hard to breathe, except in silent hiccups. They weren't really hiccups but it was too sad, too crushingly embarrassing to call them dry sobs.

And Celty and Shinra were silent, observing his grief. Although society tried to soften truth and honesty, they felt that nevertheless it was important to respect it. They were confused but somehow unmoved. It didn't quite feel real. The seconds ticked by and they pondered Shizuo's powerful feelings, trying to understand.

Finally, Shinra said, "Would you like some milk?" Lizardlike, Shinra licked his dry lips, tense. At long last he thought he might have a glimmer, and inkling, of what Shizuo was thinking.

"_Yes_, thank you," said Shizuo faintly, and pressed his hands against his eyes.

"Sit down, then," said Celty, her voice gentle.

"Celty," said Shizuo, and stopped. He could not go on without her encouragement.

"Yes," she said, hesitating.

"I recognize... there's someone I met...someone I met who looks like you." Shizuo's voice was raw, ragged, and bleeding, like red meat oozing on a cafeteria tray. It was surely part animal. All flesh, it could not bear the stress of his words. It stretched, tore, and broke itself apart into pink stringiness until it clogged his throat...

"Yes," said Celty. She affirmed. She, too, had met her. Mika.

"We were in the park, and there was a lover's spat. You were interested in the girl, and I told you to go ahead. I roughed up her boyfriend, after he attacked me," said Shizuo, almost chuckling, and suddenly gasped as new pain and fresh tears pricked his eyes. _Hhhheuuh-hhhhehh._ "With those pens." Celty remembered. Shinra looked at him strangely, so Heiwajima qualified, "_He_ attacked _me_ with pens, I didn't use them... He kept yelling about his love and his girl and how he had to protect her until I got ticked. I—I told him that he didn't understand love." Oh, that was the least of it. Shizuo crossed his arms in front of his chest, in an X, each hand clasping the opposite shoulder. "Because—because. He understand nothing about that girl. He blindly trusted that fate had brought them together. Nothing could change his mind—no reason, no logic. Just feelings."

"Shizuo," said Celty, and tears sprang in her eyes. _Why are you telling me this?_ But she couldn't ask. It was imperative that she should not ask, so that what was needed to be said would said without obstruction.

His heart would roll out. No it wouldn't. "But I know you. And I understand now. A little."

"Understand what?" said Celty, weaving uneasily on her feet.

Shizuo rocked once on the floor, back and forth, and bit his lip, shredding the top layer of skin. "Why he couldn't, couldn't change his mind. That he was gone. He was too far gone. No matter what their love meant...what the consequences might be, he couldn't deny it..."

Celty's lips parted, and no sound came out. She put her hands over her mouth. _How long?_ she thought, but didn't say, her heart beating wildly. Her breath fluttered against her fingertips. _I never knew, never suspected... Him? Me? We were just friends!_ Her feelings with colored by dismay, and it wasn't a mild feeling at all, but a sharp, persistent one. _How can we get over this?_ And underneath, dismay trapped panic and anxiety over the future.

Shizuo looked at her miserably. _Celty, I don't know if I can change this_. Even he wasn't sure quite what he was saying. Nor what he wasn't saying. He wanted her, a piece of her, to be his, forever. He had no right, not even to wanting it. Once she married, she would belong to Shinra, and he knew her well enough to know that she would never look back. Shizuo didn't mean to be this way. He never thought his respect for and his friendship with this woman would lead him here. But he _was_ here. Shizuo was...

Abruptly— "I'm sorry," said Celty, quiet but firm. And she said again, "_I'm sorry_. I can't, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I _can't_—" She turned, fled the kitchen, and burst into tears.

* * *

Shizuo let her go, numb, and stared at the cup of milk that had been pushed into his hands without his noticing.

"Shizuo-kun, you made my fiancée cry," said Shinra, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was serious, but he kept his voice deceptively casual. "Unforgivable is too strong a word, I think, for almost any circumstance, but to ask me to ignore what you did just now would be nigh impossible, even for me."

Guilt-ridden, Shizuo mumbled an apology, and set down the milk on the counter.

"She's very delicate right now. And you're her best friend, you know," Shinra reproached him. "You should know better."

Shizuo laid his head on the island counter and pounded it with his fists. The napkins that had been piled in the center of the counter scattered. The island's base scraped and screeched on the tiles.

Sighing, Shinra patted Shizuo on the head, something he'd would never have dared to do in almost any other circumstance. But it seemed appropriate. "Yes, well, I forgive you. I daresay you'll make up before long. In fact, I trust that you will, and that's how you'll make it up to me." Shizuo shrugged and swatted away Shinra's hand as gently as he could. Undeterred, Shinra continued, "Shizuo-kun, I was wondering what you came over for."

"Oh, that. To ask if what Izaya said was a trick, or if Celty got her head back," Shizuo said emptily.

"Oh Shizzy-chan." Shinra patted his arm. Shinra was touching him again. He always did that. Didn't he ever learn his lesson? Reluctantly Shizuo decided to let Shinra do his thing, although it made his skin prickle. "You poor confused soul. You'd better fall in love with someone else, hm? How unfortunate. Save yourself the pain and trouble and do it quick."

"Yeah, I know," said Shizuo, and shifted his stance despondently. "Sorry." But it couldn't be helped. One can't control love—only what one does with it. Though he'd try.

Feeling the need to hurry, to leave and lose himself in the ordinariness of life, he got up and felt around in his pocket for his keys; then he knew what he needed to do. They jingled, reminding him of home, and he clasped them in his hand. They were cool, heavy and jagged, making his hands smell like zinc alloy and copper metal. Home.

"Shinra," Shizuo said, and his voice cracked badly, as it hadn't done for many years. "I'll be there at your wedding. I won't see... Anymore. Can't." He waved one hand feebly. "Goodbye. Tell Celty I lo..." He never finished that sentence. While he had been inside, the skies had opened their vaults, dumping water in torrents, a surprise shower. Shizuo opened the door into the pouring rain, and left. The door closed. Water dripped off the handle and trickled down, making a puddle in the waterproof _genkan_. And for a few seconds, above the sound of water, the sound of a wailing man could be heard before the water swallowed up his voice.

Shinra pushed his glasses up his nose, and worried. Celty wouldn't speak the rest of the evening, but she allowed Shinra to cradle her to his chest while she sat on the couch, thinking.

* * *

"Shinra, you know that old man who drew pictures at the edge of the park?" asked Celty upon waking the next morning. It was perhaps the clearest thought she had had since Shizuo's confession.

"Yeah?"

"Let's ask him to come to our wedding."

" ...'Kay."

Shinra had agreed, but he was half asleep at the time. Celty took Shinra to the park, and Shinra bought ice-cream for Celty, not quite remembering why they had come until they turned the corner on the section with the lake fountains and Shinra saw the old man.

"Oh, oh no, oh no," he said.

"_Yes_ way," said Celty firmly.

"It's going to be a small wedding," he said.

"I already invited some extras."

Shinra slid his hands down his lizard-crest hair until they covered his ears. "Oh dear."

"Come off it. We don't know that many people," Celty reminded him.

"_Tashikani_, both of our families are small," Shinra admitted.

"There, you see? If it makes you feel better, there are only two people I want to invite whom we both don't know that well," said Celty.

"It's just... I have this crawling creepy feeling that the chapel will be chock-full to bursting," said Shinra.

"Have more trust in me," said Celty.

"I know I shouldn't really be afraid of that. It's just not your personality. It just irks me..." Shinra rubbed his neck.

Celty smiled mildly. "So _you're_ the one with the pre-wedding jitters. I rather thought you might. Listen, I'll let you write the formal invitations."

No comment, went Shinra. Is that supposed to be a consolation?

"_Ojisan_," said Celty, seeing the old sketch artist. She waved as she walked closer. "Long time no see."

"_Ohisashiburi_," Shinra mumbled, in echo, shadowing Celty.

"Ah. Ah. Sou? Ah! _Futari-domo_. I didn't know you knew each other," said the old man in surprise.

"Did you bring your sketchbooks, _ojisan_?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

Celty tilted her head at Shinra. "My fiancée here says that you had a portrait of a Dullahan you once saw in Ireland. I wanted to see it."

"Of course. Have a look-see." The old man took his notebook from his satchel and opened it, then paged through it to the section he had sketched that day. He handed it to Celty.

"Oh, _un_. Ah. _Utsukushii_," she murmured, and touched the pages gently. She felt like she was remembering something. The dress seemed familiar. A lump arose in her throat and tears pricked her eyes.

She had been someone different, then. So long ago.

Shinra touched her shoulder, and she lowered the notebook.

"Are there others?" she asked thickly.

"Yes."

And she looked. There were pages and pages of them. Some different. Some by herself; some with her faithful, midnight-black stallion, the spirit of which had taken hold of a broken black motorbike, and restored it to life.

"Do none of them have their heads?" Celty asked.

The old man shook his head. "I tried, but I never could manage it. It didn't look right. One day your fiancée stopped by and we had a little disagreement about that, actually..."

Shinra nodded, his face inscrutable.

"I believe he thought she was better without a head," he continued.

Shinra winced, and Celty tugged his hair, to show she had no hard feelings. "But you never—" Shinra choked out.

"No—except—a week ago—" the old man hesitated. Then he decided and plunged into his satchel to bring out a folder of mismatched pages; he drew out the one closest to the front, and handed it to them. Celty held it gently, but she still creased it slightly.

It was her...and her head. It was different. It was her, in her leather jumpsuit, with her yellow cat-helmet tucked under her left arm, and her head cradled tenderly and securely in her right.

"It wasn't like the other ones. I was confused because it was so different, and I was finally able to draw the head. I don't know why, still don't. I was so impassioned that day, I couldn't help it—I just drew. And then I forgot about it, I'm ashamed to say. Until I saw you today and you asked that question...it's you, isn't it?"

Celty nodded.

"_Gomenasai,_" said the old man. "I never thought..."

"It's not your fault," Celty sighed. "People remember me. But I thought you might want some answers."

"Thank you," said the old man.

"Come to our wedding," said Celty, and the two of them faded away, as the old man replied, "I will. Come find me."

* * *

Author's Note:_ Yes, I know how long it's been since I've posted. Sorry. Summer ended, and college started, and my inarticulate beta lives in Africa, so you could say that Life got in the way._

_Poor Shizuo. Was it too dramatic? He feels things very acutely. But then, so does everyone in my stories... *evil laugh* But don't worry. All he wants to do is the "right thing."_

_Read, yonde, and REVIEW-shite kudasai. I'll write faster. I hope._

_+ Recently edited for chronology and minor flaws._


	16. Chapter 8

___Author's Note: In-chapter crossover with Steins;Gate—don't worry, you don't have to know anything about the series! It takes place a few years after Steins;Gate is over._

* * *

_Characters: Kyoko Mogami, Izaya Orihara, Takenori Sawara, Namie Yagiri_

Steins;Gate _Guest Characters_:_ Rumiho Akiha (Feyris Nyannyan), Rintarou Okabe (__Hououin _Kyouma), Kurisu Makise

Chapter 8: In Which Izaya Pleases People Just Because (That Is, For the Love of Humanity, or So He Says), and Otherwise Fails at Life

The next morning, Kyoko received news of a schedule conflict, so she rushed to Sawara-san's office to find a solution.

"Sawara-san! Sawara-san! I've—!" She stopped short.

There was Izaya Orihara, arguing with Sawara about how he had been working for three weeks and there hadn't been a single acting job yet. He was waving his arms and stalking around a bit, and at first Kyoko thought he was throwing papers up into the air every which way—he wasn't; when she came closer, she realized that the morning light slanting through the office blinds and hitting Izaya's moving arms with bars of shadows, which was what had fooled her eyes. It was still a compelling illusion, and Kyoko had to remind herself several times that the scene wasn't quite what it looked like.

Kyoko was about to tiptoe away, but Sawara spotted her and motioned her over. At first Izaya looked about to burst with objections, but then he wisely stepped aside and went quiet. Standing tall, Kyoko walked past him quickly and stood in front of Sawara's desk.

"Yes, sir?" Nervous, Kyoko passed a file of documents from one hand to the next, and finally clasped it with both hands behind her back.

Sawara coughed. "What do you have to talk to me about, Kyoko?"

"Um, sir," she said, holding out the file, "I have a schedule conflict, sir."

Sawara sighed softly and took the file. "Can't it be helped?"

Kyoko bent forward, rather tense. "No, sir. I'm sorry, LME hasn't been busy lately, so I asked around for auditions to go to. One of them happens at the same time as the comedy show role."

Sawara flicked through the file, judging every addition critically. "These are all quite good," said Sawara. "I approve. I'm sorry we haven't been able to keep you busy lately. Could you just go to the other ones, and skip the one that happens at the same time as the comedy show filming?"

Kyoko shook her head. "I'd really hate to. That one is the role I'm most interested in."

Sawara looked it over, and rubbed his chin. "Thought so. I can see why that one would appeal to you. If you achieved it, are you sure you can handle it? It's a big one."

It was a version of _Beauty and the Beast,_ and Kyoko was trying out for the role of Belle.

"Yes," said Kyoko. "I'm quite sure. If I get it, this just might be a short role—Mio may have had fewer lines than the principal cast, but the filming still went on for weeks—same with Natsu. I'll have more lines in this one, but the actual filming length is shorter. At least hypothetically. You know how it is. I think I can do it."

Sawara weighed what she said, thought, and replied, "I think so too. It's relatively unknown, but if you make a splash, then that can only be good publicity for you. Bear in mind that this will take more time than you think, and that the director is going to ask for a lot of retakes."

"I hope so," said Kyoko. "I—" She blushed, and stuttered a little before continuing, "I think I'd like it if the director had more of an opinion on how I should act. I think I did a bit _too_ good of a job thinking up my character for Natsu and Mio; ... the director never had a chance to internalize my interpretation so they could criticize. I need the practice at striving to internalize _theirs._"

"Hmm-mm. That may be an uphill battle, but it's a worthy goal. It will probably help you to adapt to most directors' guiding styles." Sawara handed back the file, with a note stuck inside that Kyoko's changes were approved of. "Therefore we need a substitute for you in the Bo suit, don't we? We're lucky that's a costume role...so anyone can do it..._Orihara_ _Izaya_."

"What?" Izaya yelped, and Sawara jumped (Izaya had crept back around Sawara's desk until he was almost directly behind his manager).

"Get out of here," Sawara snapped in annoyance, and Izaya carefully made his way to the front of the desk again and tried to look innocent. "Kyoko needs a replacement. She's been doing a costumed comedy-show role. The company gives the same contract to anyone, so if you just sign up for the night you'll be paid for it."

"Sounds perfect," said Izaya, impatiently.

"Well, there you go. Both your problems are solved. Satisfied?"

"Yes," said Kyoko and Izaya.

"Now, for the rest of the day, I believe that several of the acting schoolrooms need cleaning... Please inform Kotonami-san and Heiwajima-kun of the changed priorities."

"Yessir." They said it at the same time. Kyoko and Izaya exchanged horrified glances, and just as quickly looked away.

* * *

"Bo…is a big fat _chicken_?!" _Why didn't you tell me this before?! You don't think I could have prepared myself a little more thoroughly for this? _They were probably having themselves a laugh.

Namie would be tickled pink. She'd laugh so hard that she'd be rolling on the floor in hysterics, and slap the floor so hard that she'd wake the neighbors down stairs… Izaya could just imagine it:

"Orihara-san, could you please _control_ your secretary? We can't sleep!" "I'm sorry. Uh. No…It's not possible." "But she's _your_ secretary!" "Yes, I know...I'm sorry...It's complicated...Yes, I take full responsibility... Would you like some sleeping pills? She'll be like this for three hours at least...Take it or leave it... Oh? Well, perhaps you'd like to watch a movie instead, while you wait? Here, you can borrow this, it's Yuuhei Hanejima's latest..."

If she found out, Izaya would _never_ live it down.

But if he called her and told her not to watch TV tonight, he could be sure that was exactly what she would do. Any more specifics and she would _definitely_ find out what was going on.

Grrrrr.

Really. A _chicken_. It was so demeaning.

This was the kind of thing he thought he'd signed up _Shizuo_ to do!

Izaya took a step forward, picked up the chicken head, and jammed it onto his head. Well, if I'm doing it, then it had better be the best stinking psycho spectacle this set has ever known, Izaya swore silently.

But as Izaya would come to find out to his horror, the only way to do an excellent job on a comedy set is to make a complete botch of it.

* * *

The cast and crew filled Izaya in on what he was supposed to do and gave him the script. It was fairly easy, mainly comprised of actions instead of lines, so all Izaya needed to do was stay alert and focus on walking properly.

Hmph.

The guest star that day was a girl known as Feyris Nyannyan, born Rumiho Akiha. She was a local star from Akihabara, with a social network that would probably give Izaya's a run for his money if they didn't run in such different circles. Feyris didn't have much to do with the underworld, for instance. Feyris's speciality was fairly innocent—_moe_ culture, and all products of it: anime, manga, games, cosplay, themed cafés, fashion, trendsetting, and the like. Of all the people he knew, the Kadota gang was the likeliest to have a connection with her. As _fans_, which wasn't particularly helpful. Otherwise, he thought, the girl didn't interest him particularly.

A helper showed Izaya to where he should be, and the show started. Izaya played his role perfectly, contributing with a silly and ridiculous dance that was required. When that was done, Izaya retreated to his spot and waited for his time to contribute to the farce.

Exuberant Emcee #1 (Izaya could not be bothered to remember his real name) took the spotlight. "Hello and welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we have the greatest honor of introducing one of the most influential citizens of the Akihabara district! I'm sure many of you have met her already! We introduce you to...Feyris Nyannyan!"

The crowd roared.

_Really?_ thought Izaya.

Emcee #1 said, "Feyris, I thought we'd play a little game. You like games, don't you?"

Feyris flashed her teeth, which were alluringly pointy.

"I thought so! Why don't you tell _us_ why you're here? Guess our three reasons!" Emcee #1 exclaimed..

Feyris raised her eyebrows. "Me? Tell you? _Nyande_?"

"Just to mix it up a little! If you can guess why we invited you, your fans will get a little prize from us!"

"Awww...but it's no fun without a _penyalty_. After all, this request is so irregular! Don't you think so, _nya_?"

Exuberant Emcee #2 burst into the conversation. "But of course! Bo! How about it?"

Izaya flapped his wings and swept a flourishing bow. It was required in his contract. Bo could not refuse challenges.

Emcee #1 gasped, "Bo volunteered! You must be a pretty lady!"

Oh, did Bo not _usually_ volunteer? Izaya thought sourly. Even though it was in the contract? Or were they making this up? Why hadn't Kyoko told him? What did Kyoko usually do?

Feyris blushed and flapped her hand at Emcee #1. "Let's see... Bo will have to do his famous rooster imitation if I guess one of your reasons!"

Izaya, disguised as the chicken, barked, "_Wan-wan!_" just to show what he thought of that. Izaya wasn't sure if he actually _could_ crow like a rooster.

It was a feeble joke, but the crowd roared with laughter.

Emcee #2 gave him a very strange look.

Feyris wrinkled her nose with pleasure and leaned forward in her chair. "All right then! Let's do this! And I guess... Because I am the proprietress of May Queen?"

"Correct!" shouted Emcee #1.

"Because...oh dear, this is quite difficult _da nya_! Ah... because of my _moe_ influence?" Feyris got out of her seat and curtsied in her May Queen maid uniform.

"Correct! One more to go!"

Feyris hissed like a cat, she was "concentrating" so hard. "To play a game?"

Emcee #1 glanced at Emcee #2. "Wow, she really is smart. I was sure you wouldn't guess that one?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Feyris said, sitting back, and waved one hand lazily as she watched them.

Her body language caught Izaya's attention. It would appear that Feyris did have a rather frightening intelligence, Izaya thought, for all the cuteness. It was as quick and accurate as a lightning strike. She was one to watch.

"Well then? Bo? Give us your signature call!"

Izaya let out three screeches in a row. It was pathetic. His voice confused a rooster with a hissing cockroach—oh, great, that meant he was a basilisk. Roosters were supposed to kill basilisks. Their sounds shouldn't be so similar... He wasn't sure if any sound _actually_ escaped the suit or not, but he did the appropriate movement along with the sound...

The crowd fell over themselves.

There were times, Izaya thought grumpily, when he really did think _too much._

The emcees, who glanced askance at Bo, looked a bit puzzled but not disappointed. "Aw, that's too bad, Bo," said Emcee #2, and Emcee #1 said, "So then, let's get down to business. How old are you, Feyris?"

"Twenty years old."

"Ah, so you've reached your majority! But you were fifteen when you started the café business, weren't you?"

Feyris smiled and nodded. "Yes, I was rather ... _nyoung_," she admitted.

"What was it like? How would you describe what you've achieved?"

"Ah, well. I made Akihabara what it is. I doubt anyone else would dare to claim that title, _ne_." An inexplicably bleak look flashed across Feyris's face, but it vanished after a moment.

"You're certainly right about that," said Emcee #2, slapping his knee.

Feyris seemed pleased to be distracted from her own thoughts. Her eyes lit up. "Yes, exactly, _da_ _nya_. All I've done, really, is plant the seed of an idea in people's mindsya. A nyew aesthetic! Call it a fad..._moe_ culture will someday fade; I have no illusions about _thatya_. But it will be remembered. _Nye_." She nodded sharply.

"So, why did you choose to create _moe_ culture, in particular?"

"Because it's my dream _da nya_." Feyris settled her hands in her lap and started chattering. "I love the aesthetic, _ne_. I have always wanted to act this way, and get away with it. Be _favored_ for it, even—_cha_! Before I created _moe _culture, I was looked down on if I behaved as childishly as I wished-_ya_. I legitimized childlike behavior, and made it normal in new, adult contexts, and that brings happiness to others, _chau_! It releases people to enact their fantasies and express themselves in ways society would not allow before."

"So, it was more or less to make you more comfortable?" Emcee #1 asked, blinking.

Feyris nodded fractionally, as if noncommittal.

Izaya wondered at the amount of work goal Feyris's goal would have involved at the young age of fifteen. He felt a tiny flash of jealousy for her skill, because while Izaya confidently manipulated individuals with fine-tuned finesse, Feyris had demonstrated her aptitude with the crowds. What Feyris was talking about, and also deliberately obscuring with her "cute" behavior, was partial culture change. Usually, young people were content to outgrow the urge to cling to undesirable behaviors. What could have motivated her to do that? And the way she used cuteness—it was as façade, not as an attempt to be genuine with others, like she professed. It was a dream, then, an artificial reality that she had brought to life, much as others write books or movies or theme parks... But she hadn't been content with leaving the dream artificial. Regardless of the moral and societal complexes, she had used her influence to give her dream bearing and substance in reality.

If that was indeed her inspiration, Izaya thought it was one of the most flagrantly selfish, self-serving and grandiose achievement he had ever seen a human attempt. But no one would recognize it. It chilled him, rather.

"Interesting...interesting," said Emcee #2. "And you have been wildly successful. What do you think contributed most to your success?"

"Ah..." Feyris pretended to think, and her smile dimpled. "Money!"

"Money?" Emcee #2 was taken aback. He didn't seem to know what to say to that. He leaned forward, as if about to say something, but then his eyebrows drew together, making him look uncertain and uneasy, and no words came forward.

_Most people would lie_, thought Izaya. _It's unusual to believe in something so practical. Only villains do..._ He had to give her credit. She was simply incredibly business-savvy.

"Yes, money! People underestimate the power of money! It is quite a powerful tool! I was lucky Papa was rich, _sou_ _desu_ _nya_!"

Emcee #2 rubbed his forehead and said, "Well, yes, but why not say something more inspiring, Feyris-tan?"

"Because in my first few years, I wasn't making a profit at all _jya_. It was shockingly wasteful, _nya ne. _There was a lot of trial and error. So I needed money, or my dream wouldn't have made it to reality, where it is today, _nya_."

"_Nn—nyaru hodo..._" Emcee #2 stuttered slightly, eyes wide. "Makes sense. So what other advice do you have to give?"

"Follow your dreams," Feyris said promptly. "Don't doubt yourself, _nya_. Remember that dreams aren't just for you; for people to believe in your dream, you have to believe that your dream will help _them_ somehow. Like, their lives will be better, _ne_? Hey, I'm not being cynical or anythingya! When you are passionate, it is natural to bring others into your dreamingya. So you shouldn't forget that you have a hand in the world you live in, _nya ne_..."

At that last, a shadow fleetingly dropped over Feyris's face; but almost before Izaya had registered it, it fell away again. After that, she was smiling and nodding again and Izaya almost couldn't believe he'd seen it.

"That's some profound advice," said Emcee #1, and Izaya wanted to smack him for saying some thing so trite and obvious.

"Maybe so,_ kamo shirenya_." Feyris shrugged, piled her hands on each other, and set her teeth to dazzle. But this time, it was empty. Some of her enthusiasm had dropped away and she looked tired.

What for? Izaya wondered. All of what Feyris had said was true.

"So I hear that you've got another enterprise up your sleeve now. A completely different ballpark! True? False?"

"True." Feyris smiled genuinely. "Quite true. We call it... The name is... 'To Be Decided Later, Temporary Codename: Polyphemus' Black Sheep.' "

"What?" Emcee #1 looked disappointed; it didn't sound cute at all.

"I know, I know, _ne_. Strange name! I tried arguing with him to change it but the head scientist is eccentric da _nya_! His name's Okabe Rintarou, but he calls himself the Mad Scientist Hououin Kyouma..." She grinned. "He's a genius, a real G-Moose, a Genie-youse. Of course, you may know him as our local time travel theory pioneer, along with his wife Makise Kurisu." She giggled.

Emcee #1 was confused. "We seem to have wandered off topic..."

"Oh, I know," Feyris said quickly. "Okabe Rintarou was an early supporter of May Queen Café. That's the connection. Now I'm returning the favor. I'll do the business and he'll take us to a new area of scientific research, guaranteed to give Akihabara a little kick in the next ten years." Feyris winked. "I'd bet on it. If we're lucky, we might give the Silicon Valley techies a run for it, _nya_ know. Of course, I can't tell you all the details right now, _nya_, that would ruin the surprise-_ya_."

Izaya's ears perked up. Perhaps Namie would like to know something about this. She needed something to keep her busy and really wrap her head around. She was practically pining for a challenge.

"Oh, good, so it's a real business!" Emcee #2 laughed nervously.

Emcee #1 added, "The rumors were quite bizarre, weren't they, Ryouka-kun?" He looked at his partner. "I was quite sure you were going to say no to our question, Feyris. We had quite a debate about whether to put that question in the script, didn't we?"

Emcee #2 nodded.

How condescending. But then again, really good, really juicy science, the stuff that almost approached magic...and sometimes did...was always being laughed at. And he knew for a fact that science existed. Saika and Celty had proved that, and there were times when he had suspected its existence ever since he met Shizuo—ordinary humans did not possess his amount of strength. That clinched it. He had to track down Feyris after shooting was over.

"Oh, yes," said Feyris, a wicked glint in her eyes as if she was ready to stab something, "it's a real business da _nya._"

Luckily the Emcees didn't notice her expression.

"All right! Time for a game. Feyris, you play a lot of games at the May Queen, don't you? All of your own invention?"

The scary face melted as if it had never existed. "Yes, I do. In fact, I have one game with me right now, _nya_." Feyris linked her hands and stretched her joints until they popped. "Ah! Much better." She reached into her purse and withdrew a stack of cards. "And now I ask you _nya_...are you ready for the May Queen Jubilee?" She shuffled them extra loudly.

"Okay, now how does it work? Bo, mascot man, you'd better pay attention! You're representing ... ah-uh ..."

"Chicken Bo" Izaya tuned out Emcee #1's inane chatter and focused on the cards fanned in Feyris's hands, which she was pointing to and explaining one by one.

The rules were perfect for a gambling game. Izaya had a two in fifteen chance of winning. Although there was a modicum of skill, it was perfectly engineered to give the appearance of choice and the illusion of strategibility, but in fact it would come down to chance...

It was much easier to strategize to lose in the most spectacular way made possible by the game, and so that's what he did. Besides, it was more fun, and losing would give the crowd something to think about.

By the end of it the Emcees were trying not to chew their nails.

"Whatcha doing, Bo?" said Emcee #1, aghast. "You're missing chances! You're gonna lose bigtime!"

"Yeah, c'mon, Bo. You're our mascot! Keep going, man!" Emcee #2 pleaded. "Just don't go— Oh nooooo..."

Izaya ignored them. He was almost there. He laid the losing card down, and—

He blinked.

...Hit the jackpot.

Izaya narrowed his eyes.

But that simple act had brought the house down. The Emcees whooped and mopped their eyes, screaming with laughter. It was unsightly.

Feyris leaned forward on her folded hands and smirked, her almond eyes narrowing to catlike slits. She knew her strategy.

There was something about this setup that irked Izaya.

"Congrats, Bo. You're officially the winner of May Queen Jubilee ja _nya,_" Feyris leaned forward to congratulate them. "AND CUT!" yelled the director. Feyris didn't spare a glance at him. She stared penetratingly deeply into Izaya's eyes, and apparently liked what she saw, whatever it was.

Izaya made the sign with his hands: _How many?_

And she answered, "Oh, you know, _ne_. I think there've been _five_ jackpot winners in the history of the game." She sat back, smug as a snake.

Izaya shook his head.

Feyris propped her chin on one arm, and swayed lazily. "Well, I didn't expect you to go try to _lose-nya_!" Feyris said in a loud whisper. "They told me to make sure you lost, but apparently you already had that in _mindya_. I can _tell-ya_. You can't fool the May Queen, _nyan-nya-no_!" She shook her finger at him and grinned. She seemed positively delighted.

Dammit. She got him. Or he'd got her, he didn't know which.

* * *

The rest of the shoot wrapped up without a hitch and the Emcees clapped Izaya on the back for a job well done, maybe a little too hard. Izaya scowled in their direction, stripped off the chicken suit as fast as possible, and made a beeline to the back rooms, where Feyris was waiting to get her stage makeup stripped off.

"So, Feyris-tan. Tell me about Okabe Rintarou," Izaya Orihara demanded.

"Huh..." Feyris played with her cellphone. "I could, I guess, but who are you, again?"

"The chicken suit guy," said Izaya, grinning crookedly through gritted teeth. "Well, the sub anyway. This was my first time."

"Oh yes. I like you. You have a lot of character." Feyris flashed a smile. "You were trying to lose my game, weren't you?"

"You bet," said Izaya, this time bouncing on his toes so he looked a little less like a crocodile.

"I knew it. And why would that be?"

Izaya retorted, "Comic characters are supposed to lose, and lose comically, that's why."

"Guess I really tripped you up, huh? Smart, but not that smart."

Izaya bristled. "If I played moderately, I might have won."

"But as it was, you played to lose and won anyway," said Feyris, nonplussed.

"..." Izaya growled in frustration. He hated, _hated_, HATED foiled plans. That was why he always planned so that, somehow, some way, he always won...

"That's why it's called the May Queen _Jubilee_, ya know. The game is felicity for hopeless cases. And I know of only five lose-winners—well, six now. You know, it's funny, but after the first time, they never won again." Feyris counted on her fingers. "Okabe. Daru. My father. Who's that girl... oh, Mayushii, and the boy-who-I-always-think-is-a-girl. The name's on the tip of my tongue-_ya_. It could be Rin, but I'm not sure... Ah, _Ruka_! That's it! ... Anyway, they're all amusing people who tend to overthink things, like you." Feyris stretched lazily.

"Your point is?"

"Four of those people are on Okabe's team of scientists. His lab members. Okabe's team isn't all about smarts. It's not even all about science. Daru's a programmer and Mayushi is a bit of a ditz, so she's like the lab mascot; she cooks, cleans, makes costumes, and before Okabe started a proper company with me, she used to manage Okabe's wretched finances. She works at the May Queen sometimes on the side. And at times I think Ruka, the boy-who-I-always-think-is-a-girl, is there for moral support."

"Moral support?"

"Yes, moral support. Don't ask _me_."

"Who the heck is this guy?"

"That's the question you should be asking."

"That's what I said!"

"No, you _said_, and I quote, 'Tell me about Okabe Rintarou!' "

"Same thing!"

"Is _notya_! I can't tell you anything about Okabe to make you understand, so you'll have to meet him yourself-_ya_."

"What?!"

"Yes. Would you like to meet him?" asked Feyris demurely.

"Um—" Izaya had to think about that one, it was so _not_ what he had been expecting, but finally wrapped his brain around the concept and shouted, "—_Yes!_"

"Well, why didn't you say so, _nya_?"

Izaya couldn't take it anymore. "Because! Oh, you! You are the most annoying female I have ever laid eyes on!" Izaya hissed. "Stop saying '_nya_'! '_Nya_!' '_Nya know_!' "

"Thank you for the compliment," said Feyris, and he eyes lit up like a cat's. She could have been purring.

Izaya glowered. "I'd like to go, but I actually have someone I'd like to take with me." _If I actually get to meet the guy, I have to take Namie. I have to take Namie, because she's been looking for opportunities like this._

But Feyris didn't need any convincing. She shrugged. "Bring it on, _nyaaaaa_..." And she gave him a date and an address.

* * *

"Izaya."

"What."

Namie considered his mood. "You're scowling," she observed.

"So?"

"Would you like some Korean black bean sauce on rice for dinner?"

"I think not!" Izaya snapped. "You remember what happened last time!"

Namie threw up her hands. "Then cheer up!"

"Easy for you to say," Izaya grumbled.

"Did something happen at work?" asked Namie, pointedly.

Izaya sneered.

Namie hadn't deliberately needled him so much in a long, long time. "Let me guess..." She stretched and grinned. She didn't need to guess.

"Shut up."

"You had to dress up in a chicken suit for that show, oh-whats-its-name, SUPERNOVA STARDOM SHIIIIIINEE~~!" Namie folded her hands and pretended to swoon. "I was about to tape it, but I think the ribbon ran out—"

"NAH—MEE—AY!" Izaya bawled. "_Shut up! _URU_SEI, _NA_!_"

* * *

That night, the neighbors complained to Namie about her employer Izaya and racket he was making, which made Izaya shout even more, and finally Izaya retreated to sulk quietly in his room like a naughty child, flinging himself on his bed with wordless fury.

The neighbor's words rang in his head:

"Yagiri-san, could you please _control_ your secretary? We can't sleep!" "I'm sorry. He's actually my boss." "Your _boss?_!" "Yes, I know...I'm sorry...It's complicated. Would you like some sleeping pills?" "No, thanks. Good luck, _ojousan_." "Good night."

Izaya contracted a stomachache from strong feelings of resentment and taciturn melancholy.

Since that was the case, Namie didn't make him Korean black bean sauce after all. However, Izaya seemed to think that green-beans-and-broccoli was just as bad, which suited Namie just fine.

And when Izaya woke up the next morning, he wondered how he could have been so childish as to have a tantrum, at _his_ age. It ought to have been beneath him. He inspected his fingernails—clean-cut, without a speck of dirt or dust under the white rims—and scowled. Guess not.

But he hadn't recovered his pride enough to talk to Namie that morning, before he left for work.

Nor that afternoon, when he came home.

And not that night, despite the fact that dinner was actually tasty and edible for once.

Surly, petulant, peevish, cross, cantankerous, sour, mean and petty as any pre-Christmas Ebenezer Scrooge, Izaya point-blank refused to tell Namie about the appointment he had arranged for her to meet Okabe Rintarou.

Namie ignored Izaya's stonelike, staring, teeth-grinding prescence in the house and hummed her way through chores all day. Washing dishes—humming, humming. Doing laundry—humming, humming. Making dinner—ho hum, ho hum. Sweeping mopping—_fuu, fuu, hnnn_. She did everything in rhythm.

At some point Izaya just couldn't take it anymore. How could she ignore him so? Why couldn't she just confront him and then they could get it over with? O,_ cursèd Cheerfulness, darken my doors no more, foul construct of Felicity's incarnation!_ Izaya thought, and decided right then and there that she had driven him to madness. Without another word to Namie, he left the apartment and escaped into the dark anonymity of the city, slamming the door behind him.

Somehow he ended up in the back of an arcade shooting up monsters. He blew five hundred yen and forced himself to quit because he was a cheapskate, so he ended up walking back to his apartment and walked around, and around, and around it until he finally decided that if he didn't go inside, he would fall asleep standing on his feet.

* * *

Izaya went back to work the next morning. Izaya was afraid that Kyoko would gloat over successfully handing her role over to someone else, but to her credit, Kyoko nodded at him very distantly in the hallway that morning, and went on her way. Moko would have liked to hear more, he could tell, but she followed Kyoko's lead.

Shizuo didn't even know, oblivious as usual, the brute. So there were advantages to having a rival so blind to what went on around him, Izaya thought harshly. His thoughts were tinged even darker than usual, and that made him angry. He itched to do something. Something, anything, as long as it was superbly nasty.

It distracted him, and for the first time, Izaya received negative points at work that day. After work, Izaya looked for Shizuo, but he was nowhere to be found. He had left work early.

Perhaps he was not so oblivious after all. And Izaya hadn't even felt him watching. Izaya clenched his fists.

_Curses..._

* * *

"Izaya..." Namie winked at him when he came home.

"_What_," said Izaya, and scowled.

Namie grinned at him. "Look, look! I have the tape!"

Izaya stopped dead. "What tape?"

"The one you thought was almost lost," said Namie, grinning brightly—suspiciously gleefully. "You were so _upset_ at me when I misplaced it! I know it's your _favorite_—"

Izaya snatched the tape out of her hand and sent it hurtling into the opposite wall, where it smashed.

Namie flinched at the noise, and stared at the tape, still intact, now missing one of its nonessential plastic edgings. "Um," said Namie. She crossed to the wall and carefully scooped it up. But Izaya was already out the door.

Needless to say, Izaya didn't tell her about the appointment—again.

Namie inspected the tape, which wasn't _that_ badly broken, and carefully put it back together. Why would Izaya try to break his only beloved copy of _You Kill Me_? He loved that movie. It was about an assassin guy with an alcohol problem who was trying to quit drinking but otherwise had no compunctions against murder, rather like Izaya himself (although to be fair, she had never seen anyone involved in Izaya's schemes actually _die_), which was probably why he was crazy about it. She sighed. Aside from the gameboard-burning incident, which did not count because his feelings on that occasion ran closer to sadistic joy than upset or stress, Namie had never seen Izaya take out his temper on his things or property. So something was getting to him.

* * *

And on the third day, it rained, and it was the weekend, and Izaya was miserable. He hated rain. It was miserable weather. Absolutely nothing good came of rain. People broke up in the rain. The first rain of the season caused more accidents. Rivers rose and flooded in the rain. People caught more colds. Izaya got chilled and more and more wretched.

That's what Izaya told himself was the cause of his foul mood, but of course it was more than that. Izaya locked himself in his study and wouldn't come out.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, suspicious and confused by her boss's reclusive behavior, Namie came and pounded on Izaya's door and demanded to be let in so she could give him his supper. Or, failing that, to extract an answer as to why he was avoiding her.

Izaya shouted at her and Namie screamed back and while neither really understood what the other said on account of the door's top-notch insulation, they knew they were at cross-purposes. In the middle of their argument the neighbors knocked on the door and commented on the noise, saying it was the second time in two days, and this behavior was unlike what they knew of Izaya. And so Namie had to apologize for her boss a second time. The neighbors were no fools and they very bluntly asked her to make up with Izaya or there would be complaints.

Of course, given the conditions of that day, such a task would be impossible. Namie would have been more than happy to do what the neighbors said, but the whole point of the argument was to do exactly that, and apparently that approach had failed. Now she was out of ideas.

She left him alone after that, and the third day passed.

* * *

On the fourth day, Izaya came out of his study looking rumpled and sleepy-looking, and announced without preamble, "You're coming with me to meet someone today. Right now."

Namie's brow creased. "Not looking like that, you're not!" She put down her bowl of cereal and frowned at Izaya.

Izaya ran his hands through his greasy hair. "I can't shower, there's no time! I overslept!"

"I'll say. So tell me, what would you have done if I had slept in also?" Namie said pointedly.

Izaya grunted and sprinted to the bathroom. Namie took a moment to brush her hair, find her purse, and clean up breakfast; she was waiting by the front door when Izaya skidded to a halt in front of her, kicked the front door open, grabbed Namie's hand and led her at a run to the local train station.

"Where are we going?" Namie asked. She was strong. If Izaya had not been thinking of other things, he would have noticed that though the run was long and tiring and Namie had not worn her best shoes, she kept up with him, and had not even started panting.

"Akihabara," Izaya replied shortly. He was a little out of breath himself.

Namie squeaked out, "Why? _Nande_?!"

Izaya squeezed her hand, but he was trying to concentrate so they could catch the train on time, and he was too frustrated with himself to answer her.

They got on the train and rode it. They were quiet. Izaya tapped his foot impatiently until they arrived in Akihabara, and then he took hold of Namie's arm again and pulled her into chaos.

When they emerged, they found themselves on the streets, and Izaya pulled out his phone and used the GPS to find the restaurant Okabe has specified to meet them on—a tiny, humble ramen shop which looked slightly rundown, the existence of which was probably a jealously guarded _otaku_ secret. But even Izaya had to admit that the shop didn't look like much when they pushed their way through the hanging cloths. Everything was white, plastic, and plain, excepting the red-and-white checker tablecloths. Otherwise, it was very stark. The dark shadows the white ceiling fans threw on the walls did not help matters either. Namie wrinkled her nose, and asked Izaya the obvious question, "Who are we meeting?"

Izaya scanned the restaurant. Where was Okabe? Who _was_ in here? Was that— His eyes narrowed. There was a girl in the back corner, away from the door, with short, closely cropped dark brown hair and a heart-shaped face with cute little fangs. If he mentally put on the pink hair, he got—Feyris.

She rose to greet them.

"Feyris-tan. This is my..." Izaya paused. "Secretary" obviously wasn't strictly appropriate, nor "acquaintance," so what was left? "Ally"? Ha, nobody would take him seriously. Somewhat unwillingly, he continued, "...friend, Namie Yagiri. Namie, Feyris Nyannyan."

Namie bowed. "Pleased to meet you. _Yoroshiku_," she murmured.

"_Yoroshikya,_" said Feyris-tan cheerily, bowing slightly in return.

Now that was done with, Namie spared Feyris a rare, indulgent, specially conciliatory smile, then ignored her, turned to Izaya, frowning, and interrogated him. _Who, what, where, when how?!_ Izaya knocked back all of her hard-hitting questions. Namie did not like the answers. She folded her arms, and her frown deepened.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Izaya avoided her eyes and scuffed his feet on the floor. "I was upset..."

"Why?!" Namie demanded.

"Because I knew you were going to tease me about my role in that damn sitcom," Izaya shot back. "It was too good an edge to pass up!"

Namie snapped. "_Baka_," she said, and cuffed him lightly over the head. Izaya didn't quite manage to duck, and he rolled back on his heels, rubbing the top of his head. "So it was three days ago, then? _Now_ I remember. I was trying to _compliment_ you! That is, I was _going_ to."

"Oh—ohooooh," said Izaya, incoherently, and blinked in shock. That forced him to re-evaluate things. "Uhm. I'm sorry. _Gomen._" He closed his eyes, looked down, and made the signed his apology. _Suman'._

Namie clamped one hand on his head, spiked his hair in rows between her fingers, and forced him to bob his head several times before she threw him back into the nearest table seat. She exhaled loudly and sat back, apparently done with him.

Feyris chuckled, and they both remembered her presence in the room.

"Ah," said Izaya. "I forgot our host. My apologies, Feyris-tan, but where is Okabe Rintarou?"

"Okabe Rintarou?" Namie repeated, seizing Izaya's shoulder.

"Otherwise known as Hououin Kyouma _da nya_," said Feyris, staring at her narrowly.

"Yes, he—" Namie stopped short, and turned her fury back on the one who deserved it. "Is this who...? _Izaaaaaaya_," she growled, and squeezed his shoulder viciously, embedding her nails, "I think I know why you did this, but honestly. What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"Oh, you know him?" Izaya said weakly. He wilted. "I, er..." _Wasn't thinking._ Not once in the last three days, to be honest.

"I appreciate the gesture, really, but he's not even in my field! He's into _physics!_" Namie shouted, letting go of Izaya. "_Worse_, he's a complete _crackpot_! He makes Shinra's father Shingen look reasonable!" How true that was, she didn't know.

"What _is_ she-_ya_?" asked Feyris, sounding interested.

"A chemist," Izaya answered, and Namie rounded on him.

"Okabe said he needed a chemist," Feyris interjected mildly. "By the way, trying to fit Okabe into a box is a useless exercise. Even if that 'box' happens to be his field. Except for his wife, Makise Kurisu, he doesn't work with other physicists. He needs people of other talents."

Namie sniffed. "We'll see about that. So, Feyris, since we came _all this way_ to see him, let's _see_ him, shall we? What's he doing?"

"The answer is quite simple, _nye_. He's late." Feyris shrugged. "He probably got caught up in an experiment. I'll call him-_ya_." She got out her phone, dialed the number, and he picked up. She rebuked him and excitedly, but quietly, gave him his instructions in classic proprietress-of-the-May-Queen style, and hung up. "He'll be here in less thanya—"

The door to the ramen shop banged open and a tall man in a white lab coat rushed through and slid to a stop in fron the of the little group. The ramen shop's proprietress groaned and clutched her head. "Stop zaah rackeh a'righ _now_!"

Okabe Rintarou shrugged and cracked his knuckles. "Feyris-tan. Why have you summoned me from the depths of important experiments? How high of a security alert went off? Was it SERN? NOZOMI? Nebula?... Or is it...wait..._who_ do we have here?" he asked, in genuine surprise.

"I told you this before!" Feyris grinned brightly and rubbed her hands together. "Recruits _desu-nya_. This is Namie Yagiri, and her contact, Izaya Orihara."

"Hoohooooooh," said Okabe. He rubbed his chin, which was just slightly stubbly. "Do they object to fetching groceries?" His golden eyes were unfocused while he was thinking.

Namie was insulted. Was that all? Was _this_ what she had been dragged halfway across the city to hear? She expected to work, and be respected. Seriously? Errand-running? If that was what they wanted her for she could just buckle down and keep working for Izaya._  
_

Feyris wrinkled her nose and giggled. "Silly Okabe-kun. Mayushi-chan does that for you. And you're only getting one of them, _if_ they agree."

"Two is better than one." Okabe stared at Namie in the face, quite rudely.

"Wouldjall _siddown_?" the ramen shop lady yelled. "And callah me when ya's all ready to order! Shell phones no servish!"

Feyris snapped her cell shut and tucked into the pocket of her dress, looking innocent.

"Oh, yes, we shouldn't upset the hostess..." Okabe guiltily drew a chair for everyone and sat down hastily, looking only somewhat chastised. He was used to being yelled at by her. "_She went to the dentist for a toothache the other day. It's quite terrible,_" he whispered loudly behind his hand. Everyone felt bad for her and sat down without another word.

Namie would not look anyone in the eyes, least of all Izaya, who was at least doing her the favor of avoiding hers in turn.

Okabe did not appear to notice. He opened his menu and scanned the options.

The front door flew open again—less violently, however, as the perpetrator caught it and replaced the door quietly before she strode forward, her dark red hair streaming behind her. "Okabe!" she shouted, commandingly.

Okabe flinched at first, then fidgeted in his seat, perhaps a little guiltily. "Yes dearest? Kurisu-tiiiiiiiina?"

The red-haired girl slammed her hands down on the table in front of him. She barked, "Why?"

For a fraction of an instant, Namie was amused. After all, she had just screamed the same word at Izaya, in almost exactly the same way. And then she hardened. Just what was going on here?

"Ah, Christina..." said Okabe, dismayed. "Feyris-tan arranged for me to meet some people. New lab members? Wouldn't that be exciting?"

"One new lab member," said Izaya quickly. "I was scouting jobs for my secretary, Namie Yagiri. To tell the truth, she's bored with her job and I will be going on extended leave and will not need her services, so I wanted to leave her with a good job as a going-away present. The current economy is difficult, you see..."

Makise Kurisu, repeatedly and incorrectly referred to as "Christina" by Okabe as some kind of obscure joke, locked eyes with Izaya, and raised her eyebrows to show him exactly the level of respect he deserved—she didn't believe his story for a minute. She turned back to her husband, and raised her eyebrows. "And you were going to tell me about this, ah, _when_?"

"Errr. Five minutes ago?" Okabe surmised, rubbing his head, perhaps in anticipation of something. "Didn't Feyris-tan text you?"

"_Baka!_" Ka-blam.

"Ow! _Iiiit-t-t-t—_" Okabe clutched his head.

"And this is why you should'nya ever marry a _tsundere_," Feyris-tan whispered to Izaya conspiratorially, and Izaya nodded absently, not really paying attention.

Namie frowned at Feyris.

"You just _left_ in the middle of an experiment and I had to clean up after you! I didn't know why you'd gone! I got the text _afterwards_!" Makise shouted in her loudest, dryest voice, and waved her hands for emphasis.

"It wasn't in the middle. We were _done_. You said you didn't need my help!"

"Yes I did!"

"No you didn't!"

"Well, I'm your _wife_! And your _assistant manager_! You should tell me when you start doing...irresponsible things!" Makise struggled, impassioned. Okabe crossed his arms, pursed his lips and looked cunning, but said nothing. "Oh, good grief," Makise sighed in exasperation, tiring of the whole argument. To her credit, she calmed down very quickly. She knew very well she would never get Okabe to behave as she expected. "Well? Who do we have here?"

"Izaya Orihara, and Namie Yagiri," Feyris-tan supplied. "Namie is looking for a job. She has experience in general science, medicine, business, and chemistry."

"You're a chemist?" Makise said, with sudden interest.

"Yes. I have experience in the pharmaceutical business." Namie dug in her purse and withdrew two business cards, which she presented to Makise, one after the other.

"Mmm. Nebula and Yagiri Pharmaceuticals."

"Yes. My company was bought out by Nebula. I believe that some of my associates would still be there, if you would like to check my references."

"You have my sympathies." Makise flicked a glance at her husband. "Have we ordered?"

Okabe shook his head.

Makise asked, "Does anyone have a problem with tonkatsu ramen?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Tonkatsu ramen it is, then." Makise leaned back and yelled, "We're ready, madam!"

"What's't then?"

"Tonkatsu ramen for everyone, please!"

"Cominga righ' up!"

"There," Makise sighed. "We can get on with business. Feyris, lunch dates aren't the best places to conduct interviews, are they?"

Feyris shrugged. "It works for the May Queen."

"Let's not do this in the future, shall we?" Makise said firmly.

"As you wish." Feyris folded her menu, laid it flat on the table, and leaned on it.

Namie was uncomfortable.

"If you're quite done playing around," Izaya said impatiently, "What are you interested in Namie for?"

Makise stirred. "Her expertise. Okabe has been trying to design some new experiments and inventions. They require certain specialized properties which we're not sure how to achieve."

"Ah," said Izaya, pushing himself back from the table. "Namie, I leave it to you." Hard science was not his strong suit.

Namie flicked her eyes at him and took a deep breath. "What are you thinking of?"

Makise flicked a glance at Okabe. "A precursor to a time machine," she said bluntly. Okabe immediately began muttering into his phone about mysterious organizations and his suspicions about being watched. "El...Psy...Congroo..." he ended, flipped the phone shut, and laughed dramatically.

Goodness. He was worse than Shingen Kishitani. "You're joking," said Namie, quite seriously.

Makise shook her head. "I didn't believe, either. I teach physics. But they proved me wrong one day. I can show you proof, actually."

Namie looked at her askance. "If you would."

"After supper," Makise promised.

Namie tucked her hands under her legs and rocked forward. "So what kinds of substances do you need?"

"I've worked out the physics equations. The substances we need have to have certain properties. We need a chemist to create a substance that matches those properties."

"Then you need a materials physicist or engineer, don't you?"

Makise sighed. "What's holding us up is that it's not a known substance that we need. It has to be created."

"Nevertheless," said Namie stubbornly.

Feyris propped her chin up on one hand. "We can send you to schooling for thatya. I have the money. Makise is also going for the chemistry part."

Makise blushed slightly. She loved learning, but it was somewhat embarrassing to hear someone else say that she had been sent back to school.

Namie bit her lip, thinking.

"And I know physics. I can help. We can work together," said Makise, slightly hoarse.

"But why bother sending me to school?" asked Namie. "There must be fully trained professionals out there."

"They're employed, mostly. It's a hot topic, but research today focuses on nanotubes—well, actually, they might help, but I don't know enough about them to be certain—and certain organic chemistry molecules, which we don't need as much. Besides, we need someone who doesn't have preconceived notions of what physics is, but is discovering things as he or she learns them."

Namie's breath whooshed out. "I see."

"Did you like school?" asked Makise softly.

"Oh, it was all right." Namie shrugged, but the slight tension in her face didn't leave. "I'm not even sure why I'm bothered. I'm just not sure about this yet." She looked at Izaya, who was stretched out in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, and gazing at nothing in particular. He wasn't paying attention to the conversation at all, but was genuinely lost in his thoughts. It was out of character...

Their food came. "_Itadakimasu_," they all intoned, and began eating. The table was quiet. Even the irrepressible Okabe was preoccupied by the solemn mood. And at the end, "_Gochisousama_," said Namie, and Izaya echoed her absently.

Glancing sharply and surreptitiously at the shopkeeper, Makise pulled out her phone and called the lab, speaking in a low voice. "Daru-kun. I'd like to show a prospective lab member our first experiment with the cell-phone microwave." Daru replied. Makise shook her head, said goodbye, and hung up. "He says it's down for repairs."

Okabe looked up at that. "The most recent experiment? With the mice?"

Makise nodded mutely.

Okabe frowned. "Crap."

"Oh, he says it was a success..." Makise trailed off.

"But the machine broke, didn't it?"

Makise shook her head. "Actually, not even that, but there was that lightning again. It needs to be checked thoroughly."

"_Kuso_," Okabe swore, mildly. "_Tch_."

"_Chikushou_," Makise muttered, in a rare show of frustration and one-upmanship. Her voice was even lower, duller, and more disappointed than Okabe's. She slumped in her seat. "Sorry, everyone. The experiments have been rocky lately. No pain, no gain..." but she was nevertheless grimacing at the thought of the work ahead.

"Hmm," said Namie. It was bad news, but it showed her a good sign, she thought...

Izaya quietly took out his wallet, shelled out the appropriate amount of cash, and stood. He thought he could read Namie fairly well in ordinary circumstances, as these were. Namie seemed to need time to think. It was when she looked disinterested, at times, that she was thinking most deeply, and wished to be alone, undisturbed. "We should be really be going. Will you call us if the machine works again? We'll have a better idea of what you're working on again," said Izaya.

"Yes, of course," Makise murmured. "We will. I'm sorry for the breakdown. I was looking forward to it. And please—drop by anytime." Okabe made a faint sound of protest, but thought better of it.

"We'll keep thinking," Izaya promised, and Namie nodded stiffly.

"Until next time."

"Next time." And with that they parted, but Makise's soft, urgent whisper was still loud enough to be heard: _"So, where do you think the mice went, Okabe?"_ And then the bells on the shop door jingled, the door closed, and Namie and Izaya were walking away.

Namie winced and covered her eyes with one hand. Oh, joy. There was a _reason_ why she hated doing experiments in school... Even the most exact instructions and procedures still left room for the unexpected.

* * *

"How did it go?" asked Izaya, sticking his hands in his pockets and weaving in front and beside her as she walked.

Namie shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm still upset at you for everything."

"_Gomen_," Izaya apologized, as sincerely as he knew how.

"_Baka_," she muttered, with some grudging bitterness, but without heat.

"But you're not angry with me anymore," Izaya pointed out.

Namie shrugged. "I'm troubled. That's all. I thought we were one way, and then..." she waved one hand listlessly. "I'm upset. I don't know why exactly. _Baka,_" she said again, trying the feel of the sound on her tongue as if it were a perplexing flavor that she wasn't sure why she liked.

"Look, I ruined it. I'm the idiot," said Izaya earnestly. "Truly, I can't reconcile how childishly I've been behaving as of late. I don't know what's come over me."

She shook her head. "Maybe."

"_Try_ to give them a fair chance," Izaya pleaded with her. "Please _try_ not to let the mood interfere with your choice."

"I know. I'll try." Namie shrugged again and strode ahead, walking indifferently and ignoring Izaya.

And to tell the truth, the more she thought about them, the lighter Namie's heart felt; she was curious. Cautious, but guardedly curious, and that was a lighter, more welcome feeling than any she had had in a long time. She wanted to see more.


	17. Break 8

Break #8: In Which Celty Bakes Her Cake, and Shinra Eats it Too; the Rest is All-Over Frosting

Shinra skipped into the apartment, kicked off his shoes, and let the door bang shut behind him. _Bam._

"Honey, I'm hooo_oooome_! Hey, what's that smell? What's for dinner? Did you make me something, Celty? Oh! No no no nononono don't put it away, don't put it away! _Hey_! You didn't let me taste your cooking last time! Nooo_ooooo_ooo—" Shinra chattered. He swung out into the hall, skidded into the kitchen, and slammed into the refrigerator before bouncing off and dancing in front of Celty.

Celty jumped and her hand jerked a little and blemished the cake frosting. She looked up and stared at the energetic visage in front of her. "Oh, Shinra," she sighed.

"What?" he said, wrinkling his nose. "You're making a cake?"

Celty bit her lip. Her face turned slightly pink.

"Can we eat it?" said Shinra hopefully, not really getting it.

Celty laughed nervously and said, "Yes, I suppose."

Shinra grinned widely and grabbed two plates from the cupboards.

"Shinra, it's not done," Celty said, puzzled and a little anxious. She wanted to finish it. Besides, if he took some now then it wouldn't be perfect, it might taste bad and it wouldn't look like the cake recipe... She didn't know how human food ought to taste a lot of the time.

Shinra shrugged. "But I'm sure it tastes good right now, so..." He dug around in one of the kitchen drawers, found a knife and cut himself and Celty a slice. He handed Celty her plate.

Celty was wistful about the incomplete nature of the cake, but sighed and took it. "What temperature is it outside today, Shinra?" She rifled through another drawer and withdrew a fork, and handed one to Shinra.

Shinra wrinkled his nose again. "Oh, about 10º C." (49º F, Amerika-jin.)

Celty laughed. "No wonder then."

"No wonder what?"

"You're extra chatty and you're acting a little hyper."

"And you correlated my behavior to the _weather_?" Shinra eyed her.

"Yes."

"You might be right."

"What?"

"I said, you might be right."

"Forgive me, but I really thought that would make you want to argue..."

"Nope!" said Shinra happily, and took a bite. "Scientifically, there's nothing absolute about your statement and I like cold weather. I guess it would be strange if you hadn't noticed by now."

"Is—it—good?" asked Celty anxiously, referring to the cake.

"Perfect. I'm glad I caught you before you decided to give it to the birds." He took another bite and widened his eyes at her.

Celty turned red. "I would not!"

Shinra pursed his lips.

Celty insisted, "Really, I wouldn't."

Shinra made a non-commital sound. "Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn't, but the fact stands that I haven't gotten a taste of your cooking since you tried to make _tamagoyaki_ when I was ten and you caught the kitchen on fire. You shouldn't judge your cooking skills on account of one failure, you know. Why you have this guilty urge to cook and then try to hide the fruits of your labor I simply don't understand." Shinra finished the cake slice and shook his fork at her. "May I have more?"

He hadn't asked the first time. "_Doozo_," said Celty, bemused. She hadn't touched the cake.

"You can eat, can't you?"

"Yes."

"You should. It's delish."

"Ah — all right."

"Good, isn't it?"

Celty nodded.

Shinra grinned and lifted his chin, and shook his "And that is why I have decided that at whatever stage I find you cooking in, I shall insist in partaking of it!"

Celty froze midbite. The cake fell onto her plate. "You wouldn't!"

"I would."

"Shinra, I beg of you, that's a fine idea and all that — it's crazy enough that I believe you would try — but for goodness sake _don't you DARE touch raw meat or fish_!" Celty screeched in consternation.

Shinra rolled his eyes. "Good grief, Celty, I'm not that stupid," said Shinra casually. "I know not to wash rice with soap."

Celty sniffed and couldn't decide whether to frown or smile. "Good for you," Celty said tartly, and sighed loudly. "Good. I was just checking. If you ended up in the hospital because of me and some crazy idea of yours..." She started muttering disgruntledly.

"_Tokorode, _by the way, why did you decide to bake a cake today?"

Celty dropped her fork with a clatter. "Um, Shinra..." she mumbled, flushing.

"_Nani_?"

"I don't want to answer that question!" she exclaimed, covered her face with her hands.

Shinra went straight into panic mode and started fluttering around her like a panicked butterfly, waving his hands frantically and trying to make soothing noises. When Shinra finally managed to calm them both down, he tried talking to her again.

"Celty, does this have something to do with Shizuo?"

"No." She almost giggled nervously. It had nothing whatsoever to do with him. The thought that he might have felt a little funny.

"Uh..." Shinra chewed his lip. "The wedding?"

Celty let out a small peep. "Yes."

"I don't get it," said Shinra, tilting his head. "It tasted good."

"But it looks awful!"

"S—so?" Shinra's expressive face winced and twinged and changed expressions very quickly, but they all conveyed quizzical puzzlement. He'd forgotten about how he had interrupted the frosting process.

"Oh, man!" Celty flopped forward. "I'm so _stupid_..." she moaned.

Shinra screwed up his eyes and kneaded his temples. "I feel like I am worried over nothing, or maybe you are worried over nothing, but Celty, I really just don't _understand_."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Celty closed her eyes and nodded very sharply once. "I'll try to explain it simply. Shinra, I got up this morning, and I thought, _who's going to make the cake for the wedding?_ and then I thought, I don't know anyone who can do that, so then I was thinking, _well maybe I should just make one_, but I wasn't sure if it would look right or taste good and I made it anyway and you liked it but I just know it's not good enough I can't make them very big, not beg enough for a lot of people, you see, there aren't any layers and this one was really quite small and anyway I realized as you were eating it that we have enough money to do just about anything so we could just hire somebody to make the cake and so it was really pointless to get so worked up about it but of course you were going to ask me why I made it and I was so embarrassed to have gone to all that effort and then suggest that we just hire somebody else, Shinra, and it was like I misled you and I hate that, Shinra! I'm _sooooooooooooooorry_!"

_Where is she getting the air to say all of that? I probably shouldn't ask. She just does. She's a Dullahan. _"You have nothing to be ashamed about," said Shinra. He rubbed his forehead. "We'll hire somebody. Everybody does that, except maybe the people who _are _professional cake decorators."

"Oh."

"I wasn't thinking of doing anything else, anyway. That's just what people do."

"Oh."

Shinra changed tack. "Celty, you're very cute."

"Am not!" Celty covered her cheeks with her hands.

Shinra just nodded wisely and said, "Yes you are, silly girl. You needn't get so worked up about it." He snagged one of her drifting hands and squeezed. "I love you. You make good food." He leaned a little closer to her face.

She laughed a little. _No I don't_.

"Say it isn't so, but you do. Anyone can cook and I can also do it, although I like being too lazy to bother even more, but you really care to do it _right_. You just need some practice and a little more confidence. I'm a lucky man. So I'm going to keep telling you until you believe me, understand? And by the time you believe me, you'll probably be fantastically good, so no harm done." Shinra bumped his forehead to hers. _Clunk._ "There, you see what I'm thinking." He winced and rubbed the spot. "Hardhead."

She laughed. "All right."

Shinra's seriousness quickly died away. "Say, do we have any ice-cream?"

"Yes, in the fridge."

"What are we waiting for? Can't have cake without ice-cream. C'mon, let's have some more." Shinra tugged her gently into the kitchen.

* * *

"Celty, what do you say we go out and look for wedding gowns?"

"Sounds fine."

[...]

"Well, that was depressing."

"We can save up."

"Or we can ask somebody to make us something. I was too tall to try on half of the dresses whose styles I actually liked..."

"Do you know anyone?" Shinra asks.

Celty shakes her head. "No, but I'll ask around."

"Whatever you decide, mistress mine."

Celty blushes. "Please pretend you aren't going to spoil me rotten... I have to be sensible..."

"Stop being sensible."

"It's not so easy—"

[...]

"Celty, can you send out formal invitations?"

"I could, yes, but we need to decide on a date first."

[...]

"Okay, winter's coming up. I don't know about you, but I'd really, really, _really_ like to avoid the Christmas slash New Years' rush."

"Gosh, you're right. How about in the spring?" Shinra scratches his head.

"I like it. April is a nice time of year."

"Dear, April is when the _sakura_ comes out... If anything, that time has got to be even worse..."

But Shinra had second thoughts. "Although now that I think about it, that's so far away..."

"How about the weeks before Christmas, then? Say, somewhere between December 5th and December 15th?"

"_Probably_ more deserted."

"I should hope."

"Still, preparations take a while. Oh, great. Say, I completely forgot!"

"Forgot what?"

"Reservations. Where are we going to hold a reception?"

Celty turned wide, pale blue-green on Shinra. "Please, please, please let it be a cathedral! With stained glass!" She looked very excited.

"A cathedral?" Shinra was surprised. "Do we have any in Japan?"

"Mmm-hmmm." Celty nodded quickly.

"You're not religious, are you?"

Celty shifted in her seat. "I believe in God... There's something out there, I'm sure, but I've never been able to understand it. You know, I wasn't even allowed inside a church in the old days, in Ireland. Because they thought, well, you know, that I was a demon or something. Which is nonsense. And since then, I haven't, well, I never dared to enter while there were people present. But of course there always were. People. So, what about you?"

"I don't know," said Shinra. "I've always towards atheism, myself, but..." He shakes his head. "You exist."

"Me?" Celty blinked.

"Yes, you." Shinra rolled his eyes. "You can't have not realized this. Science doesn't explain you. Magic."

"And because magic exists you find it easier to believe in God?"

"Pretty much. I mean, it's possible. It's always possible. But it seems much more likely. If physical matter had its start in the Big Bang, then the spiritual must have sprung from someplace also. That must be God."

"But why God, not gods?"

"Shintoism says the gods are pieces of one god. If it comes down to _that_, then... " Shinra shrugs. "So there must be one God, but the whole must be greater than the sum of its parts, don't you think? Most of the major religions agree on that in some form or other. But I've never been quite keen on Shintoism _or_ Buddhism, for that matter. I always felt like something was missing."

"Like what?"

"Something like...like acknowledgment that we aren't in charge of our universe." Celty's confused look makes Shinra want to explain clearly, but he's not sure that he can. "Shintoism basically comes down to bribing the gods. And sure, that _seems _to work sometimes, but it backfires an awful lot. The old stories are full of the accursed. It is almost better to avoid the gods' attention than to enlist their help. Meanwhile, Buddhism says we can control how we perceive the world and act in it and by doing so we suffer less." Shinra sighs. "That we just let things happen to us and nothing can be done about it, and the gods are irrelevant. But I don't believe that humans can lift themselves clear from the muck by themselves. Such a person would have to be perfect from birth. And then it all seems like an illusion, doesn't it?"

Celty bit her lip. "It seems like you've thought about it a fair bit."

"Not really. It's not like I've reached a definitive conclusion of any kind. Just that what I know isn't sufficient." Shinra pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Mm," Celty agreed. "So, is a cathedral okay?"

"If that's what you want, I'll make it happen."

"I'd rather it wasn't a combined reception hall and chapel."

"You want a proper church then."

"Yes."

"A Christian wedding?"

Celty hesitated. "If your family doesn't object."

"They are neither religious nor superstitious, so they would be happy with whatever we decide. I mean, you've met my dad, and my birth mother was pretty similar." At Celty's questioning look, Shinra adds, "You haven't met her yet." Celty nods her understanding.

"Well then, yes, please. In style, at least. It's not that I think it makes it more or less legitimate, you understand, but that's what I'm confortable with."

"Okay."

[...]

Shinra made the reservations and settled the date. Celty wrote the invitations and sent them out, and began gathering the supplies she needed for the wedding, trying to be as frugal as possible. Shinra signed the checks and appreciated the effort. They lived in a nice apartment, it was true, but that didn't mean that their finances were limitless. There actually wasn't a lot of room for extras. They were both confident, however, that they could pull off a modest but lovely wedding that didn't look shabby.

The big day comes rushing and barreling towards them.

[...]

"Hey, Celty."

"Remind me who the bridesmaids are?"

"Namie Yagiri and Anri Sunohara."

"Would you like to ask a third?"

"Sure, but who?"

"Erika Kurosawa?"

"I guess, sure, we get on pretty well, in the end."

"In the end?"

"Come on, Shinra, you know she jokes about everyone's sex life."

"Forgot about that. I thought my short list of close friends was pathetic until I saw yours."

"Close friends of the _same sex_, you mean. Your friends were my friends. I have lots of strong friendships."

"Sure. But just for the sake of balance, would you mind adding her to the list? Or do you think she would cause too much trouble?"

"Not at all. Certainly no more than Izaya or Shizuo will. Add her on."

[...]

"Shinra! Shinra!"

"What?"

"I forgot," Celty moaned.

"Forgot what?"

"I issued invitations to both Izaya and Shizuo to be groomsman!"

"Wait—you didn't forget Kadota, did you?" Shinra worries.

"Eh? No, no of course not. He's best man. Yeah, I know he's not as close to us as the others, but what else could I do? Between Izaya and Shizuo? But Shinra! They'll have to be on the same team, _cooperating_. Or at least looking good. What was I thinking?!"

Shinra pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh. Ugh. You're right. This could turn ugly."

"_Darou?_" Celty groans.

"Celty, I'll go talk to them."

"Do you think they'll listen?"

Shinra sighed. "I don't know, but maybe this once I can pull out a special favor. They're both reasonable men. More or less. It's a good thing you thought of this before the thing happened. Look, I'll go out to talk to them now." He heads out to the hall.

"Right..." says Celty, subdued. "Come home in one piece, now..."

Shinra flashes her a brief, ironic smile and throws a trenchcoat over his shoulders. "Love you, _ittekimasu_."

"Bye. _Itterashai._"

[...]

"_Tadaima_..."

"What'd they say?" asks Celty, sucking her nails. "_Okaeri_," she adds, belatedly.

"Celty darling, it went fine."

"Okay." She eyed him.

"Really. I haven't got any bruises, even."

"What about broken bones?"

"Those either."

"Good."

"Sprain?" Celty thinks of it suddenly.

"For goodness' sake..."

"Well, you know, Shizuo is strong and he broke your arm once before."

"That's because I was immature and I was being an annoying brat. I've grown up some and so has he."

"Yes, but what did they _say_, Shinra?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Duh. What I expected them to. Otherwise I'd still be there arguing, wouldn't I? They said they would behave themselves and not chase each other during events related to the wedding, including the ceremony itself, the parties, and the receptions. Because I was asking, and all, and a wedding is not the time to break social rules. They promised not to say a word to each other. And we'll seat them as far apart as we can."

"Oh good. Poor Kadota."

"Poor Kadota is right... I'd pair him with Togusa just to keep him company in his misery but I admit I don't know Togusa as well, and that would look strange. At least Shizuo and Izaya don't seem jealous of the best man role. More or less, but they'll still find some way to provoke each other. You just never know with them."

"But at least they'll make an attempt?"

"Yeah."

"That _should_ be good enough. You know they seem to get along well enough at work now? At LME?"

"Izaya says he doesn't come into contact with Shizuo all that much there," says Shinra.

"Still."

"Still."

"I think it's helping," Celty says hopefully.

Shinra is more cynical. "I think we just _want_ to be optimistic."

Celty sighs. "There is some of that, yes..."

[...]

"Celty, have you found a dressmaker for the wedding things yet?"

"You know, it's a funny story. I told Namie who told Izaya who consulted his coworkers who knew a makeup artist who is also apparently a costumes whiz. The costumes whiz said give her a call and the message worked its way back to me in the same order it went. You would think somebody would be able to skip a step and just call me back instead of going all the way back through the grapevine, wouldn't you? But anyway. At least I have the costumes whiz's phone number now."

"So you've made an appointment?"

"Yeah." Celty checked her watch. "As a matter of fact, I was going to tell you and forgot. It's at seven this evening."

"Geez, Celty, I'm going in to work at five to perform surgery! Alas alack! Couldn't you have told me this, like, a_ week ago_!"

"I'm sorry, you know my memory's like a seive! Can you delay it?"

"What do you think? The procedure should go only an hour or so, but anything can go wrong and I won't be able to focus with _this_ dangling overhead! And I can't let you go alone, I thought this was something we'd decide together!"

Celty's face turned shifty. "Call and say you have the most horriblest stinking flu you ever had in your life about six years ago, it _might_ even be bird flu. In fact, the terribleness of this flu is that it has addled your senses so that it took you six hours to remember to call work and cancel the appointment. Say you don't want to endanger the life of your patient but if they really want you to come back to work, then..." She shrugged. "It's a personal emergency."

Shinra sagged. "You're a lifesaver. Wait, how did you know the surgery wasn't _that_ urgent?"

"Shinra, every time you get called up in advance, it's not like anybody's gonna die if you're not there. You can put that on hold. It's the stuff that no one plans for that I'd worry about. And anyway, since I've never seen you do it before, this once it's probably okay to call in sick without reason. Okay?"

"Okay."

Shinra made the phone call. Celty made him run around and do chores with her in the meantime, and at six they headed for the appointment together. And the costumes whiz really _was_ a great catch, a truly marvelous seamstress. She happily pulled out some of her handy designs, from which Celty picked a few. The costumes whiz took Celty's measurementes, tested fabrics, and calculated the costs.

It ended up being a much more reasonable than Celty expected, and she and Shinra were both very pleased.

* * *

_I'm still young and single, and I've never witnessed the wedding-planning process up close, but these are the kinds of things that I imagine couples would talk about in the months leading up to the event. If you have any other ideas that could be appended to this section, or simply know things that people who have zip experience with the marriage business would never guess at, please, leave a note to that effect in this break or the next ones._

_Actually I expected more people would leave a review in this one, since I started discussing religion in it. Did I ruffle feathers? Did I do well? Maybe somewhere in between. Regardless, I am especially curious about how you readers perceived my treatment of it. But no-one's said._


	18. Chapter 9

_Characters: __Ren _Tsuruga, Yukihito Yashiro, Heiwajima Shizuo, Simon Brezhnev, the blond Russia Sushi chef (I don't know his name)

Chapter 9: In Which Tsuruga-san Wraps Up Loose Ends, But Loose Ends Fray Still

A car pulled smoothly into a parking garage. The two men in the front seats conferred, making no move to get out. After the events of the day, or really, the past few days, their supply of adrenaline has been spent, leaving them exhausted in their seats.

"Yashiro-san," Tsuraga said casually, "It's time to make good on my promise."

"Oh. Which one is that?" Yashiro yawned, checked his watch, and mentally reviewed Ren's schedule. Just to make sure that they didn't have to hurry somewhere. He got out his notebook. No, there was nothing left at all...

"I promised Kyoko I would investigate the LoveMe members, remember?"

"I don't remember you saying such a promise out loud."

"Hm. Maybe I didn't. But I clearly remember making it," Tsuruga said thoughtfully. "It's been bothering me. These last few weeks have been so busy, I've hardly had time to do anything but eat, drink, and think."

"So _have_ you been thinking about it?"

Tsuruga shook his head. "Not successfully. The thought is always driven out by various work worries."

"The good news is, you have the rest of the day to think and decide, Ren." Yashiro leaned back in his seat, made himself comfortable, and played with his grip on the steering wheel. Although a busy schedule was a good thing in his opinion, chauffeuring Tsuruga everywhere was still a tiring part of his job. He couldn't think why he forgot to fill in such a huge block of time when he was planning for this part of the year a few months back. For once he was quite glad that they have some accidental free time now.

"Do you mind if I talk aloud?" Tsuruga asked Yashiro.

Yashiro shook his head and closes his eyes, so as not to listen too closely. "No. Go ahead."

"I understand who Shizuo Heiwajima is now, but Izaya Orihara is still a mystery to me. He was also the one Kyoko was most worried about, so I feel frustrated that I haven't gotten to him until now—I owe it to her to do better..."

Yashiro decided not to comment on that last. He wasn't supposed to be listening.

"I got to Shizuo using a connection at the agency. It was his brother, you remember, who decided to help me out. With Orihara, though—I know he's from Ikebukuro, but that's about all. I can talk to Shizuo about him, of course, but Shizuo's account will be biased, since he's Orihara's favorite victim."

Without opening his eyes, Yashiro said, "I would be careful with the term 'victim.' ...Perhaps Shizuo can point you in the right direction. Mention someone you _could_ talk to without too much bias."

"That's an idea." Tsuruga looked at Yashiro. "You think he's still working at this hour?"

"Probably. Kyoko often worked late hours."

"Want to stay here?"

"Please. I'd die for a nap."

"I thought so. It's rare for you to be more exhausted than I am, isn't it?"

"Yes, I overworked myself...let me alone."

"Have a good sleep."

Yashiro didn't reply; he sagged against the driver's side door instead. He hadn't even taken off his seatbelt.

Tsuruga got out of the car, slammed his door shut, and strode into LME.

* * *

Tsuruga didn't even make it to the office—he found Shizuo inadvertently on the way. Apparently he had been called upon to organize papers in somebody's office. Shizuo was doing it silently, so Tsuruga almost overlooked him as he peeked through the many doorways, but Shizuo's height and blond hair were a dead giveaway just when he was about to pass him by.

Tsuruga grasped the office's brass handle and opened the door. "Heiwajima-san?"

"_Hai_." Shizuo turrned. "Tsuruga-san, isn't it?"

"Yes. Rare to see someone of such height around."

Shizuo grunted and nodded. "Is there something you want?" he asked, somewhat warily.

"I'd like to know more about Izaya Orihara, without alarming Kyoko," Tsuruga said casually. "Problem is, I'd like to hear another perspective from yours. You'd just get emotional about it."

Shizuo nodded curtly. "Probably. Let's see." He reflects while he shuffles the papers cleanly in his hands. "I would ask—oh, Simon, probably."

"Simon..."

"Simon Brezhnev. He works at Russia Sushi in the Ikebukuro district."

Tsuruga coughed. "_Russia_ sushi?"

"You got it."

"Whose crazy idea was _that_?"

Shizuo shrugged. "Dunno. They always look like they're on the edge of bankruptcy, but they hung on for a good five years—they'll stay, if their customers do. Their sushi is good unless it's on sale on a Tuesday. Though sometimes it seems like there's a sale going on there all seven days a week."

"Huh."

"Of course, the real reason why people eat there isn't the food."

"Oh?"

"It's to keep in touch with Simon. He's a pacifist. A peacemaker, in a city of violent troublemaking fools like myself." Shizuo inserted some papers into a stapler and slammed down. Amazingly, it wasn't broken. "It's a place to get advice, to do business, have some fun. And unlike Izaya, Simon knows pretty much everything but his conscience keeps his mouth shut on the sensitive stuff." Shizuo ripped open the stapler to check and make sure its innards were un-mangled. They were fine. More gently, he snapped the pieces of the contraption back into place, and placed the stapler back on the desk, feeling somewhat ghoulishly lucky that it had survived the encounter with his brute strength. "The two keep close tabs on each other. Or, at least, they _did_, before Izaya got this job. But yeah, he'll tell you whatever unless he thinks it could harm someone else."

"Thanks for the tip. That sounds like a good idea."

"No problem." Shizuo looked up. It felt like there was something he forgot to tell Tsuruga, but he couldn't think what. Then he shrugged. Tsuruga would find out.

* * *

"How long has it been?" Yashiro checked his watch. "It feels like I just fell asleep. Fifteen minutes?"

"I got lucky. Sorry I startled you. Did you rest well? I need you to drive me somewhere."

"Plug it into the GPS." Yashiro yawned, then straightened his back and shoulders and settled into alert driving mode.

Tsuruga entered the information, and Yashiro started the car.

"What's the name of the place, again?"

"Russia Sushi. Ikebukuro."

"What's the world coming to?!" Yashiro complained, echoing Tsuruga's thoughts exactly. "You gonna eat there? You better. Who's paying? Geez, I haven't had a decent meal in ages... I hope this is worth it..."

Tsuruga chuckled. Yashiro wasn't using the right vocabulary, but in this instance, he can't help but think that Yashiro sounded very like a cranky teenage girl. Tsuruga good-naturedly let it slide. He could always tease him later.

* * *

Yashiro dropped Tsuruga out in front of Russia Sushi, then drove away to park the car somewhere. Tsuruga stepped out of the way of the pedestrians that had just crossed the scramble sidewalk, and waited for Yashiro. He looked around.

"_Yasui yo! Oishii yo! ROSHIA-sushi wa ii yo!_" It's cheap! It's delicious! Russian sushi is good!

Tsuruga blinked. On the corner was a massive black man in a blue-and-white old-school uniform, holding a sign and some coupons in his hand. The bouncer. He looked like the type who could drag people inside restaurants... Suddenly it dawned on him: this was the odd person who appeared in the middle of Kasuka's Ikebukuro newscast with handwritten advertisements. In fact, Kasuka had visited this restaurant during that newscast...

The pedestrians flooding the sidewalks had cleared away, so Tsuruga stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over to the black man. The man was just a tad shorter than him, but he was significantly wider: he was shaped like a stone rather than a stick. He looked like the type of guy who moved slowly, but would be impossible to shift off balance in a fight and had a lot of power in his muscles. But there the innocuous man stood, inanely chanting his simple advertisements.

Tsuruga faced him, took the proffered coupon, and said, "Do you know where Simon Brezhnev is? I think he works at Russia Sushi."

The black man's face cracked into a slow smile. "_Ore da_." That's me.

Tsuruga blinked. "You?"

"I Russian."

"But you're _black_."

Simon's deep-set grey eyes blinked slowly. "That I am. Why ask?"

Tsuruga figured this was a topic it was wiser not to get into just yet. Simon knew his own business. Tsuruga shook his head sharply. "Never mind...sorry...I assumed... Shizuo Heiwajima told me about you, he just didn't mention what you looked like, so you weren't exactly what I expected. Also, I have something I'd like to find out about."

Simon roared with laughter and clapped a hand on Tsuruga's back. "Why not say so?! Come in! In!"

"I have to wait for my manager, Yashiro, to get here first. He'll be here in a minute." Tsuruga crossed his arms.

"Ah. Manager? You actor type? You know" (Simon placed a thick hand to his forehead and screwed up his eyes) "Yuuhei Hanachida? No, that not right. Yuumei Haneshima? No. I never can remember these kids, these kids change names with no need. You know name?"

"You mean Yuuhei Hanejima formerly Kasuka Heiwajima?" Tsuruga asked gingerly.

"_Ja_, that right. I never remember, but— Oh _hey_, you know him!" Simon's eyes lit up. "You know, he an Ikebukuro kid?"

Tsuruga coughed. "Local celebrity?"

"Well _ja_. Sort of. The people that know, they know." Simon tapped his head with one finger and winked. "But he Japanese star now! Not just us Ikebukuro people like him!"

Tsuruga smiled faintly. "That's good to hear. He _has_ been getting popular elsewhere, lately."

"Where you meet?"

"Kasuka, you mean? He works at my agency."

"No, where meet Shizuo-kun," Simon said intently.

"He's also working at my agency, though I knew his brother first. He's in...a different department." Tsuruga hesitated. "An actress I like works in that department."

Simon made a short, understanding grunt. "There come your manager."

Sure enough, there was Yashiro, struggling to cross the scramble sidewalk.

"How did you know that was him?"

Simon shrugged. "I know his monkey's uncle. Weird family. Show me picture of nephews one day. That guy was crybaby in pictures, very memorable." Simon grinned, displaying dentine-white, perfectly square teeth. "Monkey's uncle say he grew up to be manager. Different. Not like rest of family."

Tsuruga scratched his forehead. "I don't understand."

Simon shrugged. "I remember everyone, even if they not know me."

"Impressive," was all Tsuruga could say. "With so many people. How can you _stand_ to live here?" he muttered in as low a voice as he could muster.

Simon smiled faintly, not offended. "I live here because only way many survive here, have to have my talent." Tsuruga had trouble deciphering Simon's cryptic answer, but Simon paid him no mind while he figured it out. Instead Simon stretched himself taller and started calling, "Oi! Yashiro-san! Tsuruga-san here, so you come inside! 20% off Thursday! Sushi cheap today! Russia Sushi good everyday!" Simon waved his sign.

Yashiro was completely flabbergasted. Tsuruga waved, too, more circumspectly, so Yashiro would feel better.

* * *

The blond chef at the bar took a good look at the party, said something in Russian to Simon, and Simon responded. The chef nodded once, and transferred his attention back to his kitchen and customers.

"Back room good for business," Simon said, briefly, and led them there. They ordered, and Simon came back with their order in a few minutes.

"Chef gave me permission to stay and talk if you have serious business. What brought you here?" Simon asked.

Tsuruga said, "We'd like to know about Izaya Orihara's background."

"Big question. Why you ask?"

"Shizuo Heiwajima and Izaya Orihara are working for my agency, LME, in a special section. The LoveMe section, where a girl I like works," Tsuruga replied. Yashiro's eyebrows went up. Did he just hear Tsuruga say Kyoko was the girl he liked? It was rare for Tsuruga to be so blunt, and it was obvious that Tsuruga didn't want to mention her name directly. "She was concerned, because they signed up together, but they seemed hostile."

Simon sat back and blinked several times as wrinkles appeared on his forehead. "Together?"

"Yes."

"No one told me." Simon went quiet. "Shizuo not been by lately." He looked up. "This could be... I will tell you, if you tell me what has happened to them there." Simon looked concerned, and also...slightly guilty? "That deal?"

"I don't know much, but I'll tell you what I can."

"OK. How did they get there?"

"According to, um—the girl I like—she said Izaya signed up first, and found a way to blackmail Shizuo into joining him at work there."

Simon sighed. "Izaya is playful, but even this not make sense. I think this could be my fault."

"_What_?"

"I told Izaya get lost, to get out of this part of the city. Izaya always make much trouble, this time he hurt too many people. We might have street war if he stayed, I thought. Shizuo tell him to get lost many times already, but Izaya never listen, of course. He rather fight Shizuo. But he had to listen to me." Simon sighed deeply. "I used violence."

"Shizuo said you were a pacifist," said Tsuruga, perplexed.

"Only when effective. Pacifism _mostly_ effective," said Simon. "It works, I can get by with it. I am big, tall, intimidating. Little people must fight more because they have strength not respected. Truth in Russia, where one cannot be pacifist alone, I have long reputation. But if possible, better not fight. Less regret. Truth was, that time, I was angry." Simon looked a little ashamed.

Huh. Tsuruga had no trouble believing that Simon has personal experience with this principle.

Simon got back to the topic. "Izaya does not listen reason, though he speak Russian so well." Simon looked somewhat regretful. "It is not good, but I miss his wild talk."

"What was he trying to do in the city?" Tsuruga asked, fascinated.

"That I not know either. However, he is information broker, right. He talk to yakuza, he talk to gangs, he pull strings. He know not-human people also. He almost cause a street war. Two, three gangs." Simon held up three fingers. "One called Yellow Scarves. One invisible, call themselves Dollars on the internet, although rumor say they are not up to traditional gang activity. Three is hive-mind people touched by a long knife, name Saika's Children."

"Hive-mind?" Tsuruga found it hard to believe this.

"Yes. These three groups led by three schoolchildren. These children all friends but not know friends so powerful. Each group kept secret from others. Then groups start fighting because Izaya stir up misunderstandings. That was recently. Before that, Izaya try similar stunt between the Yellow Scarves and the Blue Squares. Blue Squares disbanded. This Yellow Scarves kid had a person he liked mixed up in it. She hospitalized. She Izaya's pawn but he did not protect her. Yellow Scarves kid feel very guilty, but not his fault." Simon gestured. "So I become angry. Good thing is now they all know who they are."

"Anything else?"

"Ay. Izaya mixed up with Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. People disappearing all the time. Yagiri Pharmaceuticals fell to company, name of Nebula." Simon rubbed his forehead. "I don't know more about that. But gut tell me that drama is not over. It did not end cleanly."

Tsuruga and Yashiro exchanged glances. "Okay, what does this have to do with LME?"

"That I not know either."

Tsuruga sighed and shook his head. "I really don't _understand_ this person. How did he get to be this way?"

"Oh, he very simple really. When he bored he likes watching people struggle. Likes havoc, makes him feel superior. He very smart but not interested in being _good_ or following rules. Odd thing, he not much interested in profit, either, but he very good at making money. He just—curious. And then, very hard to predict. I never seen him submit to authority."

"Anything else you can tell us? Say about Shizuo and Izaya? Show we be concerned about them at work? And how does Izaya interact with other people?"

"Tell me what you seeing now."

"Well...they avoid each other mostly," Tsuruga said sheepishly.

Simon blinked. "Really? Sound like good news."

Tsuruga frowned. "What, running away from each other? That's hardly positive interaction."

"But they used to fight whenever meet. They not looking for each other anymore, though? Not spoiling," Simon reiterated, looking for confirmation.

"Spoiling for a fight? No, I haven't seen that. That I'd notice, though."

"If they were, you see. Everyone always see." Simon seems somewhat cheered by the news of them. "Tell me, what is the LoveMe section's philosophy?"

"Yashiro-san? Why don't you explain? You haven't said anything for a while." Tsuruga got caught up in his eating.

A little surprised, Yashiro stuttered a bit, but he managed to communicate Lory's goal for the section and make it sound appealing. Tsuruga could do the first part, but he didn't think he could manage the second. Tsuruga was not good with sappy stuff when he wasn't acting.

"It is good for them both, to be part of an effort like that," Simon reflected, looking satisfied. "I think they will learn from it, if they not kill each other first." He sighed. "I hope Shizuo remembers what I taught him."

Tsuruga looked up. "Still with the killing talk?"

"They just haven't done yet. Both are very strong." Simon's expression was pessimistic. "If they do not stop being enemies, it only matter of time. That is what everyone feels, inside." His voice dropped with sincerity. "I am sorry I cannot help you more."

"Is it likely that people could get hurt if, say, Izaya tried to pull something on Shizuo?" Tsuruga asked.

"Very likely. But there no reason to think he would choose to pick on woman you love, unless she drew his attention. He drawn to interesting people."

Hmmm. Was Kyoko interesting? Tsuruga thought she was. She was certainly different. But he didn't know if her way of being different was something Izaya thought highly of. She could be gullible, in some ways.

"So it would probably be wise to tell her to stay out of his way, if possible."

"Probably. Have a care." Simon flashed a grin. "Women hearts very sensitive. Sometimes jump to conclusions. Result not good."

Tsuruga grinned back. "Do I ever know."

Simon stood up, about to walk back into the restaurant, but then he stopped and said something, surprised, in Russian. He turned back around. "I think I know why Izaya wanted Shizuo with him. Care to hear?" Simon smiled slightly, a dangerous, slightly fierce smile.

Tsuruga raised his eyebrows. "Go ahead."

"On African plains, the gazelle and lion very close. They watch each other. Lion is predator, gazelle is prey. When I told Simon to leave Ikebukuro, he realized he could not keep eye on Shizuo. Partly, because Shizuo is most dangerous person he knows: he needs know what Shizuo does. But also because Izaya is fascinated with Shizuo. Izaya's blackmail probably flimsy but Shizuo content to stay where Izaya wants him because there he also watch Izaya."

Tsuruga blinked. "So who's predator and who is prey?"

Simon shrugged. "Only they know but my guess is Izaya. I will be back. I want to talk to Yashiro-san."

Yashiro blinked.

"Simon said you had a monkey's uncle in the area," Tsuruga whispered to him. "Sounded intriguing."

Yashiro groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. "Oh. That would be Uncle Rinkei. I forgot he lives here."

"What's he do?"

"Gambles and invests and... he's always taking out loans. _Usually_ he pays them back. He's a scoundrel."

"You sound fond of him."

"Yes, well, whatever his financial situation he was a very fun uncle. Teased me to death but he had a soft spot for me, I think, because he was used to be the black sheep, too. In his case, he was impatient, hyperactive, and too clever by half, while his brothers were all stoics."

"Whereas..."

"I was the crybaby and my brothers were all stoics," Yashiro said, a little irritated, and rolled his eyes. "Surprised?"

"Not really. It's just hard to square with how you present yourself now, so it amuses me. Sorry. You might have been behind on the manliness scale, but if you ask me, you turned out better. You're a great manager."

Yashiro smiled slightly. "Yeah. I think so, too."

Tsuruga punched Yashiro lightly on the arm. "It's a very manly field."

Yashiro just shook his head in despair.

Simon came through the doors, with more food. "This on the house, for the information. Chef likes you. We can use more celebrity."

Yashiro snorted. Tsuruga coughed, and muttered through his fingers, "Do I have to pose for a picture?"

"Great idea!" Simon said enthusiastically. "Very good idea!"

Grinning broadly, Yashiro scooted into a corner, trying to hide his desire to whoop with laughter. Tsuruga glared daggers at him. "Yashiro-san, is this allowed?"

"Simon, do not post this picture on the internet," Yashiro ordered him sternly. And then rolled his eyes.

Tsuruga ignored them both and went back to eating.

"Of course. No internet." Simon turned around, got a camera, and took a picture. It is not particularly flattering: it's a badly lit photo of Tsuruga sitting at the table with sushi lifted halfway to his mouth, looking aback at the camera with a decidedly grumpy expression.

Surely _that_ wasn't good enough. "You can take two pictures if the first didn't turn out well," Tsuruga suggested. On second thought, he had that 'ladykiller' reputation to uphold...

"No, one picture is fine," Simon said, and flourished the camera. "Picture not important, you see. Advertising is." He smiled.

Yashiro snorted again.

Simon put the camera away and came back. "So, Yashiro-san."

"What?"

"Your uncle, Rinkei Yashiro-san. He work at Nebula now. Contract work."

"Oh. That doesn't mean anything to me."

"They experiment on humans and non-humans. They try to discover source of magic."

Yashiro hummed. "This has what to do with me?"

"This uncle Rinkei want to test your magic ability. He thinks it may be reason you break electronic devices all time. He said maybe there something in your psychic field that could be adjusted with Nebula technology."

"How did you find out? I'll give him a call later," said Yashiro.

"That man was spitting drunk." Tsuruga blinked. Simon continued, "He spilled information every which way. Like he want to get off his chest, out of head. Something wrong. Word on Nebula is it is a shady company. It might be good to question him close."

"Why would I do that?"

Simon's face was sober. "Never know when loved one is being used. Usually never say. Always hide truth if it hurts too much. Needs to be asked."

"Huh—?" Yashiro stood up. "What are you saying? He's been duped?"

"Be kind. Check him. If want psychic field problem fixed, make sure it safe. He's a good guy," said Simon, dropping his voice, "but gullible."

Yashiro sighed. "Yeah, I can see that. Thanks for letting me know."

"I on lookout for kin since he came in restaurant." Simon shrugged and turned to leave.

Tsuruga blurted, "I've been wanting to ask, but how come you're black and Russian?"

Simon nodded. "Everybody thinks but none ask. It is easy. My mother was American black, my father was Russian. The streets of Russia weren't kind. The result—me, name Semyon Brezhnev."

"You mean Simon?"

"Yes, Simon." Simon flashed gleaming ultra-white teeth. "Come again, please."

* * *

"Tsuruga-san, do you want to pursue this further?" Yashiro asked.

Tsuruga nodded. "Just in case."

"Then where to next?"

"Izaya himself."

"Ah?"

"Do me a favor and find out where he lives and drive me there."

"That's a bit off the charts," Yashiro said, with a tone of mild objection.

"Oh, please. It's for a good cause, and I know you can do it."

"Well, so I can," said Yashiro, trying not to sound pleased and a bit flattered.

[...]

A young woman with long hair and a peculiar green knitted sweater opened the door to Izaya's apartment. She stared at them suspiciously.

"Good evening. We're looking for Izaya Orihara."

The woman nodded and drew back from the door, letting it slide shut. They heard her yell, "_Izaaaaaya_! Visitors!" and Izaya reply.

Barely a moment later, Izaya poked his face out the door, wearing his usual self-confident sneer. His hard expression melted into blank surprise, however, when he registered that the visitors were Tsuruga and Yashiro.

"How—may I help you?" he said politely.

"We'd just—we'd like to talk," said Tsuruga, lamely. Yashiro coughed. This was hardly Tsuruga's smoothest line. Although it could have been worse...

Izaya blinked. "We can do that..." He sounded surprised. "Come in." They did. "Sit down. Tell me what you're here for." By this time, Izaya's expression had returned to guarded calculation.

Tsuruga sat down on the couch, and tried to make himself comfortable, though the couch was too low and too shallow for his legs. Tsuruga glanced anxiously over his shoulder before answering. Yashiro hovered behind him until Namie motioned Yashiro into the kitchen, and she brewed them all tea and coffee and did her best to make some harmless chitchat to put him at ease. It seemed to work. When she absolutely couldn't take a single minute more of that, she walked him to Izaya's library, where she told him to take out a book while he waited, and Namie got back to cooking dinner in solitude as she liked it.

"It's ... it's on behalf of my _kohai_, Kyoko Mogami. She's not certain she can trust you," said Tsuruga.

"Hardly news," Izaya said. "But I don't work with her very much. Probably because Moko thinks she can handle me better." He smirked. "Which she can."

Namie shot Izaya a sharp glance over the kitchen sink and slid back to her conversation with Yashiro with barely a hitch. It still did not go unnoticed by Izaya, who had been watching for it.

"But can you be? Trusted?" asked Tsuruga.

"Tsuruga-san, if I was untrustworthy, I would lie and say I was. But of what? Of what do you wish to qualify me as 'trustworthy'?"

"I see... What are your intentions towards Mogami-san?"

Izaya actually laughed, lifting himself up a little in his chair and slapping the armrest. "None whatsoever."

"No plans?"

"As I said. None."

"But she's afraid of you."

"Well, that might have something to do with when I trapped one of her blue spirits," said Izaya. "I needed to see the President."

"The _President?!_"

"Yes."

"You could have just asked!"

"Perhaps," said Izaya. "But I made sure of it. And it caught her attention."

"_Don't you dare do that again,_" Tsuruga snarled.

"That goes without saying. That blue spirit gave me a rather nasty ice burn," said Izaya, flippantly. "Down my back." He pointed.

Tsuruga glared. _Think about the consequences of your actions a little more!_

"So, on to your next question. 'Why shouldn't I have you fired on the spot?'" Izaya's quirked his lips. "And the answer to that is, I well and truly mean her no harm."

"Why do I doubt you?" Tsuruga threw his hands into the air, sarcastic.

"You probably have lots of reasons. Still—believe that what I say is true. Know this: I keep my lives separate. The work I do... What is the phrase again? _Kitanai, kiken, kitsui. _It is demanding, and dangerous. It is most _certainly_ dirty, make no mistake, although I would like to ask you, who doesn't like to play in the dirt at some point in their lives?" Izaya stared piercingly at Tsuruga, just long enough for Tsuruga to feel the breath catch in his throat. Izaya knew something about him. Izaya knew something about everyone, probably, but... How had he figured it out? Tsuruga's head reeled and he felt queasy. _Kuon... _He hoped that nothing showed on his face, but he couldn't be completely confident.

Point made, Izaya moved on. "That said, my father always told me that all play and no work makes Tarou-kun a dull boy. Is it any wonder that I might want to break from my livelihood, now and again? Recover my senses? Revisit the world of the rest of humanity?" Izaya crossed his arms. "It wouldn't do to be out of touch. As I was forcibly reminded by an old friend of mine. Following his...insistent advice...I took this job. And I don't want to give it up. Which means: I do no more, and no less, than the work expected of me for that job. I will associate no more, and no less, than I am expected to with my coworkers. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, although I fail to understand what this has to do with your trustworthiness."

"I should hope so," Izaya said. "It would be unfortunate if you came to the wrong conclusion."

"Of course," Tsuruga managed. "So what you _are_ saying is that Mogami-san is no one special to you, and you have no reason to help or harm her in any way insofar as she doesn't get in the way of your goals. However, since she is throughly irrelevant to whatever causes you are fond of patronizing, she is just that—irrelevant."

"I am glad you understand."

"So what of Kotonami Kanae?"

"Her friend? You mean Moko-san? I like her. We're good partners. We think alike. We leave each other alone."

"I see," said Tsuruga. He took a deep breath. "I need you to make me a promise."

"If you insist." Izaya sounded bored. He leaned forward and waited.

"You must promise me never to harm Mogami-san. If there is a problem and she comes in between you and your goals, you must come to me first."

Izaya's eyebrows lifted. "Unlikely, but reasonable. I promise. Let's shake on it." He offered his hand.

Tsuruga took it, crushed Izaya's hand briefly, and let go as soon as he could.

Contract concluded, Izaya shook and flexed his long slender fingers ruefully. That was a warning not to get on Tsuruga's bad side. Now he'd better live up to his promise. He smiled a little. It was a good price for Tsuruga's trust: and now he knew intuitively there was something spotty in Tsuruga's past, perhaps he could dig around a little as a new hobby. For future guarantees and curiosity's sake. Then again, he might be able to get some business by playing the other side...

"If you would like any information at all, you know where to come."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Tsuruga, "but just now—just _no_, thanks."

Izaya shrugged. It was only a matter of time. Celebrities were some of his better clients, both for the trashing of their fellows' careers and attempts to forestall their own scandals. If he judged right, Tsuruga was definitely one of the latter. If _he_ found something on Tsuruga first, then it would be easier to prevent the same information from entering the public eye. At a price, of course.

There was nothing more to discuss. Tsuruga collected Yashiro, who reluctantly parted with his book only after staring at the title for a few seconds (probably trying to memorize it) and then they left.

* * *

Back in the car.

"Yashiro-san."

"Yes, what?"

"Are you going to call your uncle?"

Yashiro sighed. "Yes."

"Be careful, okay?"

"I will. Uncle Rinkei has always been lucky—he slips out of bad situations like oil rises from water—but even people like him can get out of their depth very quickly. Especially in that district."

"If I can help, tell me. I can act like anything, if you need it. I don't mind taking some risks for you."

"You've got Kyoko-chan to take care of. Besides, I'm the one taking care of you, aren't I?"

"It is always better when the relationship is reciprocal."

"I know that. I'll tell you when I need it." Yashiro pats Tsuruga on the back. "We've never been _strictly_ professional. Let's go home, shall we."

"Good."

They drive off.

* * *

_Author's Note: Simon's accent feels a certain way to me in Japanese; I had a hard time translating the same feeling to his English. He talks very slowly and simply but deliberately. So the result was, I made his use of verbs, negatives, and articles erratic. I know this is irritating, so try to roll with it. I'm not trying to make him sound stupid, just the opposite—Simon is smart, but it's impossible to see from a glimpse of him in passing, and that's the idea I want to preserve about his character._

A section has been added to this chapter due to the helpful comments of a reviewer. Thanks for your feedback!

_Please review!_


	19. Break 9

Break #9: In Which Shinra Informs His Eccentric Father of His Impending Marriage, and Shingen Ought To Do Traditional Things But Doesn't Because-Because of Society's True-Way-to-Happiness Conspiracies Blah-Blah-Blah (Are You Even Reading This?)

"I can't believe we waited until two weeks before the wedding to do this..." Celty said, biting her nails. "Then again, can't we wait another week...?"

"It's gotta be done," said Shinra grimly. "He's pretty flexible, my Dad, but—he can be scary sometimes. But I mean, you know that, you've seen him..."

"Yeah, I know." Celty gnawed anxiously at her thumb. "_Not_ something I want to see ever again. Granted last time it was over something I would have classified as "trivial"—do you remember when he flipped out over that green grape jello thing? He acted like it had been purposely spiked, but with what and by whom I had no idea... When, oh _when_ is he going to answer the door?..."

She's wearing her tried and true shadow jumpsuit today. At least Shingen should recognize her with it—although he might now, just by looking at her face.

The door opened, and a scruffy-looking middle-aged man in a white lab coat came out. Celty flinched back involuntarily; Shinra didn't react.

Whenever he came to Tokyo, Shingen wore a face mask because of the pollution and dirty air. The mask gave him the appearance of a deranged science-escapee gutter rat. But here, in the country, he walked around normally. Celty had always lived in Tokyo so it was something of a shock to see his real, rather ordinary face. She gaped at him.

He was actually somewhat good-looking—albeit somewhat ordinary; and that was also surprising, given what one knew of who he was. His eyes were not cold at all, but ever inquisitive, almost morbidly so; there was no room in them for any other kind of interest. His face was more square than Shinra's, the jaw very masculine, and he had fine stubble running along it. The hair was dark brown, and one side was drawn into a straggly, folded wing across his wrinkled forehead. His eyes were dark, like Shinra's, and the hair dark brown, although parts of it were phasing into silver. An asymmetrical scar slashed diagonally across the skin of his nose. Yes, he had aged significantly since Celty had seen the bare contours of his face. She had almost forgotten what he looked like after seeing him in the mask so many times whenever he visited. It had been a long, long time.

He stared at them. And then, after a moment, Shinra and Celty realized that he wasn't actually staring at them both—just at Celty.

"Hi, Da," Shinra mumbled.

"From Tokyo, eh? And who is this? Pretty girl, isn't she?" Shingen didn't lift his eyes from Celty's face, but it was blatantly obvious that he knew what had happened.

Celty lifted her chin in challenge. "Cut the crap. I know you cut off my head with that accursed blade and gave it away so I couldn't find it, so don't play innocent. You know exactly what's gone on and who I am." Her face was usually gentle, but right now its expression was sharp and fierce. Not that Shingen would take note.

Sure enough, Shingen simply switched his gaze and looked over at Shinra instead. "Good job keeping secrets," he said, raising his eyebrows at his son, pointedly ignoring the walking talking and _very _irritated Dullahan in front of him.

Knowing that she would get nowhere, Celty reigned in her temper and kept her peace. Some fights just weren't worth it. And some people weren't worth arguing with: Shingen was one of those. He could never be convinced of anything he didn't secretly want to be convinced of—like wrongdoing, sin, blame, failure. It wasn't so much that he was convinced that he was always right as it was that he never saw reason to regret his decisions, however badly they turned out for other people. Either that or his morality sense was turned on its side. He always managed to slither out of those kinds of discussions and use less energy to do that than it took to trap him into joining them in the first place.

Shinra scowled back. "_Some_ things are worth more than pinky promises that you made when you were nine, Dad. _I'm_ stupid for waiting to tell her for so long—till she confronted me, actually. Now, of course, I wish I had the courage to tell her _before_ that had to happen."

"Hmm-mm. Wondered how long that promise would last." Shingen lost interest. "But surely you're not here to berate me, or you'd have done it long ago. Shinra. Celty. To what do I owe the nuisance of your being here?" he said forbiddingly, looking at them both, and while they were stunned continued blithely on, "Anyway, I can't actually let you in. I'm in the middle of experiments. Come back tomorrow morning." He flipped the latch and turned to slide the door again. Shinra leapt up and wrestled with the sliding door so it wouldn't close.

Some things never change, Celty thought ruefully. She extended a hand, concentrated, and released smoke shadow tendrils, helping Shinra prop the door open. After a moment, Shingen leapt back with a yelp and Shinra shot forward, bumping his fingers as the door slammed into the other side. Celty winced and stepped inside. Shinra nursed his fingers. They took off their shoes and looked at Shingen.

"Excuse me, I have a delicate experiment to conduct—" Shingen sidled away.

"We called you to arrange this appointment two weeks ago. Don't act like you're busy," Shinra scoffed.

"Shinra, a true scientist does not put his work on hold for mere personal appointments," Shingen replied pompously while he edged down the hall.

"Well, how long is this going to take?"

"An hour. Maybe two. Or three."

Shinra put his hands on his hips. "Make it an hour tops. And then we'll sit down, and eat lunch together? How's that?"

"Oh. Yes. You've got me. Except, then I have to feed the goldfish—" Shingen said, entirely too hopefully.

"Oh no you don't. Knowing you, they're probably absolutely starving because of your absentmindedness, but they can wait a day or two. After this, you sit down and we are going to have a good talk over delivery pizza," Shinra retorted, and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Celty, let's make ourselves comfortable..." He caught her hand and pulled her to Shingen's living room, where they plopped down and cuddled for a while before Shinra called pizza delivery. Despite his earlier words, Shinra got restless, found Shingen's archived instructions on how to feed the goldfish. Then they went out to Shingen's tiny outdoor pond and fed them in silence.

"It doesn't do to be cruel to the fish," Shinra said after a while. "Da always puts this off. That's why he always brings it up when we come to visit. I know."

Celty looked at him askance.

"Well, my father's not cruel, but... He doesn't treat living things terribly well."

"I've noticed."

"He probably would have sold them by now, but they're Mama's fish, and she didn't take them with her, and koi last a good while. So I can't really blame him for keeping them, although it probably would have been kinder to let them go." Shinra sighed. "I come here determined not to get side-tracked and yet here I am..."

Celty looped an arm around Shinra's shoulders and squeezed gently. "Is your mother still alive?"

"I think so. They divorced when I was really, really young. I'm sure she's still out there, somewhere. Dad didn't allow me to contact her for many years. And he refused to give me her new information when it changed several years ago."

"Do you want to invite her to the wedding?"

"There's no chance. I have no way to contact her. And why would Da do it?"

"Maybe Shingen will, though," Celty argued. "If he's this sentimental. And it's for your sake."

"I don't know about sentimental. What about just plain mental?"

"Shinra, people bury their desires all the time. He might just surprise you. The thought processes of adults are rarely very clear to their children."

"Well...you can ask," Shinra says reluctantly, giving her permission. He's skeptical of whether Celty can pull it off.

"All right. It can't hurt, huh?"

"Right." This has to be one of those times, but Shinra would almost much rather leave the topic alone than ask and be disappointed.

When Shingen finally quit lurking in his shadowy laboratory and ventured into the light, the goldfish were fed, Celty has baked cookies from a recipe Namie taught her and Shinra has persuaded her to leave them out for Shingen to try (Shingen could choke and he would still declare the meal a masterpiece, Shinra assures her, which reassures Celty rather less than he expected), the pizza has been delivered, and Celty was halfway through knitting a shadow scarf to replace her plain, smooth satin matté one that she was wearing right now. Shinra steered his father to his seat at the table, and they all sit down.

Shingen said, "_Itadakimasu_," and started eating. Compared to his birdlike appetite in Tokyo, he eats like a pig at home.

Both Celty and Shinra glared daggers at him for ignoring the subject at hand, but they were also hungry, so after a moment they too said the thanksgiving and chowed down.

Shinra quickly realized the absurdity of the situation and gratefully pounced on a way to open up the conversation. "Hey, Dad, something's puzzling me, actually. I thought you would have objected more to pizza, with all the additives and junk."

"Nope, just Tokyo pizza."

"Dad..." Shinra sighed. "Tokyo is _not_ the root of all evil. And pizza is pizza wherever you go. _Including_ the additives."

"It _was_ all that when it was called Edo. City of demons, hedonism, and so forth. You can't honestly say that all that has disappeared, can you?"

"Daaaaaaad..."

"What, son?"

"Stop perpetuating your country stereotypes! You lived in Tokyo for ten years! Doesn't that count for anything?"

"And a lot of good it did me," Shingen protested. "Country folks have plenty of reason."

"I don't doubt that, it's just ridiculous that you repeat it!"

Shingen shrugged. "But things _are_ better here!"

"So you have to swallow everything hook, line, and sinker?!"

Shingen only chuckled to himself.

Shinra and Celty exchanged glances. Celty shook her head slightly, and Shinra subsided. Arguing about this was not worth it. Only Shingen would claim that wearing a gas mask 24/7 in fear of Tokyo's deadly pollution was "fun."

"Whatever you say, Dad..." Shinra replied, subdued. "We have something to say to you after we are all finished eating."

Shingen rolled his eyes and said, "Figures, you were so insistent on coming over. Had to come out sometime."

"There are some things..." Shinra's voice strained, and died out. Celty squeezed his hand. Shinra cleared his throat.

"Did I ever tell you about the lizards in the sewers of...?" Shingen rambled. "Rumors that Kyoto's had a secret komodo den for a couple months..." Once Shingen got started on conspiracy theories, it could take a miracle for him to get back to the land of reality, let alone a subject that the rest of company wanted to talk about.

Shinra screwed his eyes shut and tuned out, the better to attend to his stomach, which was currently roping itself into knots and yanking his small intestine out of whack. At least, that's what it felt like. He couldn't attest to the reality—that would probably hurt even worse...

Beside him, Celty asked questions and gently guided the conversation back to family, events, life decisions and so forth when she could. And Shingen could have been fighting her lead harder, but Shinra couldn't focus on that.

At the appropriate moment, Celty dug her elbow into Shinra's ribs. Shinra blinked to alertness and looked up and into his father's eyes. Instantly he felt the air still as an invisible ceiling silently crashed to the floor, giving him chills. "Father, I think we should discuss this in the living room, if you don't mind," he said quietly, then gulped.

Without protest, Shingen got up, and led the way.

Shinra pushed himself up from the table too fast, tripped over a chair leg, and bounced over to the living room instead of using the dignified walk he had been hoping to aim for. Celty came after him at a more relaxed pace. Shinra went down on his knees, and Celty likewise knelt beside him. Shinra envied her. She was _so_ much more beautiful and dignified.

_Dad... _Shinra cleared his throat; there was just no way that this would not be difficult to say. "Father... I, er, know you've been watching the two of us for some time. I'd just like to tell you...something happened."

"Ah, I _see_. You found the head." Shingen's face was still as a stone. Shinra wasn't sure if this is less or more unnerving than Shingen's usual flexible, slightly comical expressions.

"Not really—_no_. Celty and I are getting married."

The slightest frown crossed Shingen's face.

"What, Father?"

"This is news?"

"Have we told you before?"

"Why, no. Isn't the parent supposed to figure it out for themselves? I had you pegged five years ago. I was waiting, you know. What took you so long? You've been living together for—?"

Shinra couldn't help it, he started hacking with coughs. Celty pats him on the back. "Well it's news to me," Shinra rasps. "Wouldn't you like to know the date?"

"I don't need to know the date as I will likely not be attending," Shingen said primly. Celty sighed inwardly. Shingen's pride was going to get the better of him someday.

It was Shinra's turn to roll his eyes. "It's in two weeks, you know."

"There, you see? I can't call off my experiments on such short notice!"

It would be nice if Shingen could say that he was going to attend because he was going to attend, but of course he never would. At least Shinra and Celty knew that it was bound to happen anyway. Shingen will come because he can't stay away, no matter what he says up front.

"Hey. Dad." Shinra peeked at Celty. "If you would...could you do us a favor?" Celty caught Shinra's hand and squeezed.

Shingen nodded slowly.

"Call Mum and ask her to attend the wedding. Please." Shinra waits on edge. _It's been so long since I've seen her, heard from her, was allowed or able to contact her..._ This request is like an unscratched itch. Once he had been reminded of his wish—damn those pond koi—the thought wouldn't go away.

Shingen blinked owlishly and nodded once more. "_Hai. _Yes_._"

Shinra let out the breath he had been holding and let his shoulders relax. "Thanks Dad," he squeaked.

"Eh-ehhh well, we'll see," said Shingen noncommitally. It's clear to Celty at least that Shingen is holding back on some thoughts of his own in consideration of Shinra's feelings.

Celty and Shinra got up. "Well... I'm sorry, but we've got other places to go and see if we're going to get back to Ikebukuro before dark. We just wanted to stop by and tell you that..."

"Spare me apologies, I've got experiments to get back to. Good day," said Shingen; then he whisked himself back down the hall instead of walking the couple to the door.

A little unnerved, Shinra and Celty left without saying another word, though they felt rude doing it.

Once they are out of earshot of the house, Shinra muttered, "At least we'll never have to do _that_ again," causing to Celty titter. Strangely comforted, Celty linked hands with Shinra, and they walked to the train station. It's about time they acted like a couple in public, really...

* * *

_Seriously, don't wait this late to tell your parents things, kids. As tempting as it may be._

_The goldfish thing is probably weird. (XD)_

_..._

_I remind you to review, please! What do you like? Dislike? Want to see the story go somewhere? Just write a little something. You have no idea how inspiring feedback is. Or just poke fun at my ridiculous titles. You do read them, don't you? Personally, I think these last two Breaks have been a little weak. Just wait. Break 10 will have the __actual wedding (finally)._


	20. Chapter 10

_Characters: Namie Yagiri, Izaya Orihara, Shizuo Heiwajima, Kanae "Moko" Kishitani, Kasuka Heiwajima, Yukihito Yashiro, Ren Tsuruga, Kyoko Mogami_

Chapter 10: In Which People Go to Work and Tend Their Working Relationships

Namie was still upset with Izaya and his late childish behavior, but a week or so after the meeting, her good sense won out and she called Okabe Rintarou about the job offer. In the current economy, it would be foolish to turn it down, after all. And it wasn't like she had anything else to consider.

The phone rang with soft, low tones. Namie heard a _click _as the phone was picked up. "_Moshimoshi. _Okabe-san?" Namie spoke into the receiver.

"_Hai. _If you're looking for Makise Okabe-Kurisu, that is. Who's calling?"

"This is Namie Yagiri."

"Oh!" The voice on the other end of the phone suddenly became breathless. "Of course! Yagiri-san. You're calling about the mice, aren't you?"

"Mice..." Namie was briefly lost in thought, thinking back to the words she had overheard after their last meeting.

Makise's nervous voice betrayed her insecurity. "Ah, forget that, I meant the time machine research."

"Right. About that."

"Daru fixed the phone-microwave the other day, so we can demonstrate it today or tomorrow—there aren't any experiments scheduled for it yet, so it shouldn't break in the meantime," Makise chuckled. "Would that be fine?"

"Yes, I'll be over shortly."

"Yagiri-san?"

"Yes?"

"Are you thinking about taking the job?"

"...It's the best offer I've got," said Namie, slightly unwillingly.

More nervous laughter on the other end of the line. "Oh, no problem... I was just wondering, was all. You're the first one to call back, you see," said Makise.

"Don't you think you should be a mite more dishonest?" Namie replied, sighing.

"Ah, but my instincts tell me you're the right person and if you sign on with us, we'll be working together for quite a long time. That's why—that is—it's better to be honest," Makise replied, somewhat flustered.

"Thank you. I'll be over after six."

"Would you like dinner?"

Namie glanced at the clock. "No thank you, I'll make some before I go. Or after."

* * *

Okabe Rintarou's lab was less than immacculate, in Namie's opinion, but it was good enough for the work they were doing—which had been, after all, mechanical in nature so far.

Makise declined to do the experiment with the mice, citing the possibility of the microwave breaking down as had happened last time, but she did demonstrate the first technique they discovered on a banana, reducing it to radioactive gel, which convinced Namie that Okabe's theories had _something_ to them. She checked Okabe's scientific logs and found they were fairly sound, although in some cases studded with unnecessary inside jokes. Like Alpaca-Man. What in the world was _that_?... And there were a fair number of gadgets that Okabe himself had invented, ranging from amusing-but-useless to the apparently-lame-but-practical in function. And there were a rare few that managed to be both interesting and useful.

"I have to admit that this lab's studies have merit," Namie told Makise, shutting Okabe's notebooks.

"You were much easier to convince than I was," Makise said, smiling.

Namie's expression grew guarded. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? I am starting to suspect that I lack logic as a scientist for even daring to take this on."

"No, that was a compliment. Because it _is_ true, even though it seems impossible. I simply wouldn't confess what I really thought for a while because Okabe had almost convinced me that he was mad. He always did talk me around in the end, though, and then he'd challenge me to prove his theories with the math...which I did. And I witnessed the effects of time travel myself. So then I had to accept it."

"Oh. I can see that." Namie wondered what else to talk about, and decided to ask the question she had been dying to know for a while now. "How did you end up marrying?"

Makise coughed into her fist. "I— It's a long story. The truth will probably sound completely illogical. "

Namie's brow knit together. "Huh. But I can't think how that would work... You started out thinking he was bonkers, didn't you?"

Makise smiled slightly. "Yeah. He was—he is—eccentric. But that's also what made him interesting."

"Maybe he'll grow on me."

"Like rust on a nail," Makise replied. Namie could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

"Do you have any instructions on how I'm going to work here?" Namie asked.

"We're funded by Feyris-tan. We're paid once a month. Hours are fairly flexible: ten per day, and you can move them around. When you start attending university, Feyris will discuss how that works with you. Mind you, because we all need to be co-operating, lab meetings will be mandatory. We use a timecard. You'll get a key of your own about a week after you start working pretty closely, and Okabe will find you a lab member pin. That's the gist of it. Okabe and I live in the flat downstairs, by the way; we bought the Brauns' business and we've kept it running. Braun's little girl Nae still comes over sometimes. I usually come up here by eight o'clock, and Okabe comes by nine. We need to get you caught up to speed, so don't come before then, okay? At least not for the first week. We don't want you to be lost or wait a long time, you see."

"That's a somewhat foreign system, isn't it?" Namie said stiffly.

"But it's convenient." Makise smiled at her. "And there's less pressure on you."

"Fine. I suppose it's trying to be considerate," Namie said, nevertheless sounding somewhat dissatisfied.

"You're a person who likes discipline, aren't you?"

"I suppose," said Namie reluctantly. "Given the alternative."

"Me, too. We could use some more of it around here. You may not like the disorder, but I'm glad we have someone like you on the team." Makise smiled brightly at Namie. "It will bring us more balance."

Namie bowed slightly. "I am looking forward to it." She stood up.

"Leaving already?"

"Yes...I'm sorry...there's someone who needs me at home." Namie turned. "But I will definitely be back."

"See you." Makise waved goodbye.

Namie walked out of the lab, only to be struck by her own last words. Going _home_? Why ever did she say that? Habit, most likely... Someone who _needed _her? No way. It was just the thing to say, the most effective excuse. If she actually started believing it, though, hoo boy, was she ever in tr_ouble_...

* * *

Izaya went home. Namie was not there to greet him when he came back from work.

She was not there griping about unclear instructions or the mess he left behind or the unwelcome present he left her or the errand that she wasn't able to complete because of something he had done. She wasn't there to whip up tea and snacks upon his return with misleading (albeit characteristic) and curt briskness, and then unleash her acid tongue when he teased her. She wasn't there to ask him pointed and probing questions in retaliation. She wasn't there to watch her favorite Korean dramas while she cooked and titter with superiority when embarrassing things happened to the protagonists, interrupting his concentration at irregular intervals. He couldn't criticize her when she wasn't there.

Something in his chest went a little cold when he realized that, upon walking through the front door. There was no sound in the house but that of the pipes, and the heat turning on and off, and the constant hum of the refrigerator.

The flat really did sound empty.

Surely it sounded just the same when he first moved in. But now it left a different impression on him. The lack of sound was cold and indifferent, even oppressive.

Although he wasn't cold and the room wasn't particularly warm, he turned on the fans and put on a sweater before the breeze could give him goosebumps. The air currents made his papers flap and curl, which annoyed him. He decided he could put up with that, though, because with the fans on, he could almost believe, at times, that their steady, static buzz sounded alive, and that was enough to not feel so alone.

_What am I doing, getting this sentimental? I thought I was all about independence._

Sitting at his desk, Izaya sighed, leaned back, and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. What a bother, huh...

_I wasn't supposed to get used to living with another person. It wasn't supposed to make me feel better to live this way._

Izaya covered his eyes for a moment.

What had he told Mikado that time, a few days before he left? About evolving? About not settling for anything? About becoming bored when life was always the same?

Izaya smiled self-deprecatingly.

_I didn't used to be this sappy. If it turns out that it's the ridiculous LoveMe section that has changed my attitude, I will eat my hat. Although I doubt it will come to that. There's sure to be some _other_ influence coming over me..._

* * *

Namie opened the door to the apartment. She could see Izaya from there. He was napping on the edge of the computer desk.

She stepped inside and let go of the door. She said, "You look glum."

Izaya jerked towards the sound of the door closing, and the many papers littering his desk lifted off and slipped over the sides and away. Izaya tried to trap as many as he could with his elbows and crushed and crumpled a few in his haste. Because of this, he could not pretend nonchalance; he settled for distraction. "Eh? Wha? Namie, whassup? You surpr_ised_ me."

"Hm, that doesn't happen often." Namie unceremoniously wrenched her shoes off in the _genkan_ and stomped inside, dumping her purse on the kitchen counter. She pulled her scarf from her neck with difficulty, hastily shoved out of her coat, and thrust both items on the rack by the door. Then she tossed her hair, walked into the kitchen, and stood there in the middle of everything like she didn't know what to do just then.

"Namie?"

"Give me a minute," Namie said. "I need to remember what my purpose is."

"You're my—" Izaya started automatically, he had said it so many times before and would say it many times, probably once a day until the time it was no longer true, simply because the truth bothered Namie so much.

"Shut up," she snapped.

Izaya turned around and tried to put his papers in order without rolling over them with his chair. The chair clinked whenever he shifted his weight. When he turned back around, Namie was scurrying around the kitchen, lighting up the stove and pulling out ingredients and tools that she needed as if nothing had happened.

"Namie?"

"What?"

"What are you making?" Izaya asked cautiously.

"Tea. Rice. Eggs. Sautéed vegetables, for a stir fry. Why?"

"No reason." But he couldn't leave it at that, could he? "You looked lost, for a minute."

She turned, met his eyes, and nodded.

Irritated by his curiosity, Izaya probed deeper. "Then what?"

"I don't _know_, Izaya." Namie moved around the kitchen smoothly, dealing with ingredients and cleaning surfaces and checking on projects with ease. "I had to remember who I was, that's all. Housework—scientist things—they're very different."

"On the kids' programming this morning, I heard that cooking and chemistry have a lot in common," Izaya snarked.

Namie gave him a look, and didn't reply.

Yes, well, Izaya had deliberately missed the point. He tried not to look disappointed at her refusal to take the bait. "I didn't think you were the type who could forget that so easily," he commented.

"I was just stunned. It's my first time doing this, it hasn't become routine yet. And I didn't have anything planned for when I got home, other than to shed my clothes. It's warm in here but it's freezing outside." She looked up, frowning. "Although, actually, I'm going to get little cold with this breeze blowing about. Why are the fans on, Izaya?"

Izaya got up, walked to the switch, and flipped it off. "No reason."

"I see." Namie wiped some sort of sweat off her brow and went back to work.

"Don't you want to relax? I thought you might want a break."

Namie shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to do. So I might as well do _something_ that needs doing. I'll rest later."

"Okay." He was passive.

That got her attention. She slammed something down on the kitchen counter and hissed, "Izaa_aaaaya_, you're being too nice today. Do you have any clones I don't know about?"

"_Pffft_." The corners of Izaya's mouth twitched. "As if. Anyway, if I had any, they would probably have come from that old ethically-compromised company of yours, wouldn't they?"

Namie made no reply to that. "If you really want to convince me that you're still yourself, say something mean." She started chopping vegetables on a wooden board. The knife knocked against the wood mockingly. _Cha cha chop. Cha cha chop._

Izaya ground his teeth. This wasn't something you could just _request_. "You're not shy or retiring at all, your hobbies are hardly womanly, your cling to your dignity and pride though you live with the man who brought an end to your inheritance, you are vastly overqualified for the job you currently occupy, your verbal jabs could break skin, your best friend lost her head for the better half of a entire century and _you_ had a hand in it which ought to call your judgment into question, and of course you've got a crush the size of a jackhammer on your own little brother." He had lost the sardonic tone along the way, he noticed. This was all old business. "In summary, you should probably get your frontal lobes checked out."

It wasn't really a bad summary of who she was, she thought, although it was hardly complimentary. "Why'd you choose the jackhammer?" asked Namie, with some interest. She slid the chopped vegetables into the pan on the stove, and continued chopping.

"So that didn't bother you? I'm losing my edge." _No, the whole thing was really lame. _Izaya resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself and rubbed his eyes instead. Nothing he said worked as well as it used to on Namie anymore.

"It _is_ kind of phallic," said Namie thoughtfully, as if that was a point in favor of the intended jibe.

Immediately Izaya sat straight in his seat, as if he had been poked by a red-hot wire. "Namie, you're scaring me," said Izaya, inching away from her. "Are you really quite truly absolutely sure _you're not secretly Russian_..._?_"

Namie laughed. "You're the one who thought of it. Are you sure you don't have any Freudian relatives...?"

"Do not inquire into the mysteries of name-calling or quick quips," Izaya intoned. "The unbecoming hang-ups of humanity will raise their ugly heads every time. I can list dozens of books to that effect. Freud and Jung might not agree, but most of humanity agrees that _was_ the ultimate conclusion of their research."

Namie shoved the vegetables into the pan again, and put down the knife and chopping board. "Nah, it'd be a pretty effective insult, if the delivery was better and you or I still cared," Namie said casually. She started shaking up the vinaigrette.

Izaya blinked. "_What_?"

"I said, if I still cared." Namie poured a decent amount of the sour stuff into the pan to start with.

Izaya thrust himself forward. "Meaning that you don't."

"Mostly," Namie said. "I don't know." She went and washed her hands in the sink, leaning on the counter. "I still have those _feelings_. I am still possessive and jealous of him. If I saw him before my eyes I would feel as I did then. I would have been better for him and understood him better than that lovestruck, obsessive girl ever could, if Seiji had eyes for me. I am definitely the better woman. He wouldn't let me take care of everything for him. But..." She exhaled. "I lost him for good. And by my own hand, so be it." She was not quite frowning: her face was overly serious. "I have no choice but to cede my case."

Izaya raised his eyebrows at her. "He's not married yet. Aren't you supposed to be one of those _yandere_ anime girls who competes for the beloved's affections but always loses in the end anyway because they're just a little too crazy? Come _on_! Do your part!"

"You don't understand," Namie said woodenly, picking up a spatula. "It's too late, and I threw in my last chips already. This is my brother _Seiji_. He doesn't change his mind. Ever. Even about the most trivial things—no, in fact, they usually are-_trivial_. Unless Mika Harima dies, he's not changing his mind, and maybe not even then."

"That's too bad," said Izaya, yawning. "I was just about to suggest that Mika's assassination as a way to solve the problem." Lazily keeping an eye on her, Izaya stretched his arms high above his head, then relaxed back into the curve of his chair.

Namie was struck stock still for a moment. "No. Not even as a joke, that's just—no. Especially coming from you." So saying, she moved around restlessly, rubbing her palms together and pinching at her wrists as if something in them hurt her.

"A year ago, you might have taken me up on the offer. Even at the risk that it wouldn't work," said Izaya, watching her. "Or the risk of getting caught."

Namie pressed her lips together, but it was true. _I might have._ If she had gotten desperate enough to go that far, but things had progressed so quickly. "But would _you_ have gone through with it?" She prodded the ingredients in the pan, turned on the stove, and shook the pan over the fire.

"Well," said Izaya, "Who can say?" He reached for a packet of files on his desk and flipped through it.

"It's not that you lack the confidence to do it," said Namie.

"No." Izaya turned his head to look at her. "Even now, I think I have strings I could pull to do the job discreetly and not get caught." His tone was completely frank.

Namie shivered. "So what changed?"

Izaya looked down. "The interest. The thrill. The inclination. It wouldn't benefit me. I don't want to risk myself that much for someone else, and the idea that I myself would want someone assassinated is simply absurd. I don't care for any of that which would motivate me to take out people for greed's sake: money, power, et cetera." Izaya's hand strayed to the pocket where he kept his knife. "And I take care of my grudges personally."

Namie swallowed hard. "Like Shizuo?" She prodded the stir-fry.

"Precisely."

"Why do you hate him so much?"

"Hate him? Hate him?" Izaya's eyebrows rose high. He stretched and spun his his chair. "Why would I hate him? I love him more than the rest of _humanity_! And you of all people know how much I love humanity."

Namie heard the telltale signs of a tirade starting. She kept her mouth shut and listened.

"I first clapped eyes on him when I entered middle school. And at the time I thought, 'Aaah, one day it would be so fun to make _that_ _guy_ fight me for seriously.' We didn't meet again for a long while, but I kept it in mind." Izaya stopped the chair's spin. "I knew it couldn't be a safe play-fight. Psychologically he couldn't truly give it his all like that, and the experience wouldn't be worth as much as it might. One thing led to another and I came up with a plan to earn his wrath. It went down about as well as I expected, and as I predicted, Shizuo has hated me in earnest ever since."

Izaya spins around once, throwing his arms around as he does. "I can't describe the kind of pleasure one gets from such a relationship. It's a kind of thrill, an adrenaline rush, followed by intense satisfaction. I don't enjoy being hurt, but turnabout's fair play, isn't it? What happens to me is nothing compared to what I have done to him. When he lets himself go, and lives entirely as a monster with the power of that brutish strength of his, we go for the blood and there is nothing to stop us but our preservation instincts. We take flight and lick our wounds in secrecy. The experience is exquisitely carnal_._" Izaya licked thin, crocodile lips. "It would almost be a shame to succeed in killing him."

Half repulsed, half fascinated, she asked him, "Then why use the word grudge?"

"Well, I started it all, remember. You need to create a grudge to start a feud." Izaya shrugs as if his answer is totally obvious. But Namie was looking at him very strangely. "What? You got a problem? Do you want to leave or something?"

Namie shook her head. "I've always sensed that was the case. You just put words to the feeling. You're quite the sadist. If it was too much for me, then I would have left a long time ago." Once more, she stirred the vegetables in the pain, making sure they were good and lightly cooked.

"Good, then. Because it's one thing about me that I don't see changing." Izaya leapt out of his seat like a cat, and padded into the kitchen. "Is the food ready yet?"

"Just a moment," said Namie, and she turned off the stove.

* * *

Shizuo squinted from the top floor of LME, having just changed into his jumpsuit, watching the early-morning crowd. At some point, Izaya would stroll across the floor, and Shizuo would make sure that wherever he was going with his work, it was in the opposite direction from him.

Izaya came in through the doors, almost ran into Moko, chatted with her a bit, then headed for the elevators, tossing his hair. A slight smirk graced his lips, but soon after his face lost the tension it had held. His face became curiously calm.

The sight nearly drove the air from Shizuo's lungs, and he staggered against the railing. When he had finally pulled his eyes away from Izaya's face, he had realized something.

These days, Izaya looked vaguely ... _happy_.

This state of affairs unsettled Shizuo. In fact, it unbalanced him very badly. Because instead of scorn, or hate, the main feeling that arose in Shizuo's breast was _relief_.

And that was absurd, because surely the first thing Izaya would do if he was _happy_ was to come after him.

Wouldn't it?

He wondered who he could ask about Izaya's vaguely cheerful aspect.

Oh, wasn't that just ridiculous.

Would anyone besides him even _notice_?

But... something was different. It was not until now that Shizuo realized he had never seen Izaya genuinely happy. Feigning it, yes, often, and Izaya had more than a fair share of sadistic glee. But Izaya never let himself relax into the feeling, because that would mean dropping his guard.

If Shizuo wanted to attack him, today was the day.

Moko-san, whom Izaya had unofficially been partnered with ever since Mogami-san resigned herself to sticking to Shizuo's side whenever there was possibility for personality conflict, also looked to be less on edge. Moko never outwardly _fought_ with her partner, but she had a sharp tongue, a curt voice, and a wicked glare that she used to match him wit for wit. Izaya was used to that, so it wasn't much of an issue. Izaya seemed to have a healthy respect for Moko, as he did for anyone who held strong opinions. He even left her alone when she needed it.

Shizuo wondered where he had gotten that skill.

The elevator doors were opening. Shizuo turned and walked away quickly. He'd stayed too long.

" 'Sup, Shizzy-chan..." a voice said behind him, with that dry, distinct razor edge that never quite got filed away. But today it didn't _sound_ like Izaya was interested in starting a fight, although using the nickname would have been enough provocation in another time and place.

Shizuo didn't reply, and he didn't turn around, but then again he didn't think Izaya had been expecting a response.

* * *

"Moko-san, are you up for a snack?" Shizuo asked Moko during lunch break. He was lucky; they had both come back to the break room at the same time.

Moko checked her watch. "If it's relatively quick, I wouldn't mind. I'm hungry. As long as it's just coworkers."

Shizuo nodded. "Right. I was thinking, just for forty-five minutes or so. Do you like pearl drinks?"

"I do, actually."

"There's a place a couple of blocks away, I'll show you. I've been meaning to try it out for weeks now." He opened the door, Moko walked out in front of him, and they left. Shizuo led the way, trying not to walk too quickly. Moko said she wanted this to be fast, but he didn't want to lose track of her, and although Moko's strides were shorter she was still surprisingly fast. They took the last turn and Shizuo breathed a sigh of relief.

He strode forward and took the door by the handle. "Izaya's attitude seems to have changed a little since the last few weeks. I was wondering if you knew what happened."

"Oh? Izaya? Not much, but he did tell me a little, just to make conversation, once or twice." Moko eyed him. "I know you watch each other like hawks, but you don't talk at all, do you? Which is funny, because when I first met you, I thought we wouldn't be able to separate you. Looked like you were attached at the hip."

Shizuo sighed. "Yes...I _knew_ that's how we would seem. Um, I'll pay. What would you like?"

Moko scanned the menu, told him, then squeezed and struggled through the crowded café to a window seat. A couple of moments later, Shizuo slid into the booth, facing opposite her.

"So, what have you learned about him?"

Moko rested her chin on her hand. "Not much, but... He just has such a distinct personality, you know? Some things I can guess, and that's enough for work. He's been talking about his — what did he call her again? She's not his girlfriend, I don't think, and not quite a roommate either—ah, housekeeper, he called her. But she seems quite business-savvy, the way he talks about her. He was always complaining about her overqualifications making her bored with her work, and when she's bored she makes trouble for him. He says he offered to give her a place to stay after something he did caused her to lose her business."

Shizuo frowned and thought. "Yagiri Namie...? That woman?" _Was_ that particular catastrophe Izaya's fault? There were many things that Izaya had done, but that in particular Shizuo hadn't connected to him. Well, if Izaya said so, but...that was surprising. Izaya usually made excuses about such-and-such being someone else's decision and he was only the executor, and so on and so forth, and denied responsibility. Which was one of those things Izaya did that really pissed Shizuo off.

"Yes, I think that was her name," said Moko. She leaned forward. "He seems really attached, which surprised me. He gives off that selfish single-guy vibe, and he doesn't seem like the type who is really very interested in getting dates and girls. Although I'm sure he notices them. You know?"

"That must be recent." Shizuo sipped his drink.

"It felt like that. Anyway, Izaya said she was getting a job again. He seemed really pleased. Almost determinedly so; I think her leaving the apartment to work left him bereft, more than he thought he would be." Moko smiled. "I'd never seen him so relaxed like that. Especially since just a couple weeks ago, he was in a _really_ black mood. I thought he might go search you out and start a fight just to blow off steam."

"I know he tried. Huh." Shizuo had never thought about it that way. "He must genuinely care about her, then. I can hardly believe...but it must be good for him."

"I think so. He's mellowing. You know, he's not such a bad guy in the context of our industry. I don't know what his past entails and what beef he's got with you—"

"Believe me, I wish I knew," Shizuo muttered, and squeezed his drink in his hands before he realized he had done it so hard that tea squirted out. Moko's smile twitched. Shizuo ducked his head in apology and sucked noisily on his drink to hide his embarrassment and make sure it wouldn't happen again, and Moko went on.

"Anyway. I've met a _lot_ worse. The moral measure of a guy in our industry usually lies in how they treat girls—their fans, their costars, their love interests, et cetera, although not everyone seems to realize this. And for all his other faults, Izaya mostly treats women with respect. That I've _seen_, anyway." (Shizuo wonders if Izaya's kid sisters could have had anything to do with that. They were quite a handful.) "Did you hear what happened to Kyoko during Valentine's last year?"

"No, I didn't hear."

"She's really into Tsuruga-san, if you haven't heard. She's the only one who doesn't know it, though. Anyway, she had one ex- come after her and she ran into a band full of new jerks, and they've been hounding her ever since. The whole thing is really messed up and she doesn't need or want that attention. Tsuruga-san was acting so protective of her afterwards, I wouldn't be surprised if he had to intervene before some kind of crime took place. That's why she was extra nervous when you and Izaya came on staff."

Shizuo winced. He knew about the ex, which had been noted in the file Lory handed him, but not the new interlopers.

"Anyway, Izaya's clearly not the straightest of arrows but he's always treated us okay. For which I'm grateful. You can't say the same for everyone. And you also. You've been kind to Mogami-san. She tells me so whenever I ask her about work."

"I'm just doing my job," Shizuo replied.

Moko shrugged. "Even so, she hasn't had very good experiences with men. You've been a good influence."

"Okay. Thanks for distracting Izaya whenever he's about to come after me."

"No problem. I would do it even if it didn't reflect on how my job turned out." Shizuo spluttered. Moko grinnned. "Well, it's true!"

"He's such an infuriating..." Shizuo said, and couldn't finish.

"I agree. To the nth degree." Moko rolled her eyes.

Shizuo hesitated, then commented, "You must miss working with Kyoko."

"Mmm, yes, a little. But I have her number, and she makes time for me, so don't worry. It's been a relief sometimes. I bet she doesn't turn the demons and the angels on _you._"

"Demons and angels?"

"Whenever she acts _really_ scary or _really _pitiful. She makes you root to the spot and then she jumps all over you, and this feeling of absolute doom descends. ...That's how I got stuck in the LoveMe section, actually. She wouldn't let me leave."

"Oh, yeah..." Shizuo thought back. "I guess I _have_ seen her do it to others, but not to me."

"Don't worry, you'll get your turn, trust me," Moko said good-humoredly. She hesitated, and said, "It was good to be able to talk like this."

"Really?" Shizuo sat back in surprise.

"I didn't realize I wanted to talk this badly, actually. Your height isn't too imposing, and you're a nice guy underneath, I think, and you've displayed interest in what I have to say. Izaya's a good colleague, but clearly he'd be personal trouble if we were any more than that. He talks back even when he looks _polite_! Normally I'd talk to Kyoko, but she has this idea in her head about what true friendship is like, and sometimes communicating with her is a little exhausting. Don't get me wrong, she's the best friend I could ask for, it's just sometimes..." she sighed. "Too much. She re-interprets everything and idolizes me." Moko snorted. "It's funny. Sort of good, but also sort of bewildering. I'm not usually ... nice. I know I don't mean to be, at least."

"What does she do?"

"Oh, well, for example, when we first met..." Moko launched into a story-telling mode, complete with interjections of "_mo_!" and annoyed gestures.

Shizuo rests his elbow on the table and listens. Was this how he started talking with Celty? He can't remember, it's been a part of his routine for so long.

Shinra had said he should find another girl to love, soon...

* * *

"Kasuka! Kasuka~a~aa! Heiwaji-OY!" Shizuo bellowed from the first story, leaning over a railing, and cursed himself for almost letting slip Kasuka's real identity in public. He had just changed out of his LoveMe uniform.

All the way across LME, way down at the other end of the lobby floor, Kasuka turned around, met Shizuo's eyes, and gave him the nod. Kasuka put his hands in his pockets, mimicking the cocky pose Shizuo habitually fell into when standing still.

"Wait up!" Shizuo squeezed through the tide of people and sprinted to Kasuka's side. He clamped one hand on his shoulder so they wouldn't be parted, as the crowds were extra pushy that day.

Another hand slapped Shizuo's wrist, hard; Shizuo, who wasn't ready to let go, accidentally forced Kasuka to lurch to the side (through some magic of his own, Kasuka made the movement look graceful and fluid). The man the hand belonged to looked rather taken aback, as if something he had expected to work suddenly hadn't, and he couldn't figure out why and was a little troubled by it.

Kasuka chuckled.

Shizuo blinked, apologized, and let go of Kasuka's shoulder anyway, since he didn't want to appear antagonistic. But that didn't mean he was going to back down. "Who's this?" He pulled himself up to full height.

The other man frowned at him. If Shizuo had to say, the man's style was that of a stylish young professional. He was almost as tall as Shizuo, so he was almost two feet taller than Kasuka. His clear face was no-nonsense and a little grim, with conventional, neat hair and rimless rectangular glasses. "I should be asking the same question."

"He's my brother," Shizuo said simply.

"Oh, a likely story," the man growled, and took a step forward. "You wouldn't believe the bullsh—" He cut off the curse abruptly, looking somewhat rueful at the professional lapse, and then, determined, opened his mouth to go on-

Kasuka tugged the man's sleeve. "Manager, that's my brother."

"What?" Shocked, the man looked down at Kasuka. "Are you serious?"

Kasuka nodded.

"Manager?" said Shizuo.

"Yes. Because my movie schedule got so busy."

Shizuo's brows knit together. "Do you have somewhere you need to be now?"

"Aaaah~~~" The manager sucked his breath in between his teeth and slicked his hair back, disguising his unease. "I misunderstood, I'm sorry, I made a mistake... No. According to his schedule, Kasuka is done for the day."

Kasuka looked up at Shizuo. "Work started early today."

"How early?"

Kasuka checked his manager. "5:00 a.m."

"4:30," his manager corrected him automatically.

As if the exact timing mattered. Kasuka shrugged.

"You're not too tired?" Shizuo said, a little anxiously. "I was going to ask you out to eat, if that was okay."

Kasuka shrugged again.

The manager looked at Shizuo with some distress. "I'm really sorry. I should've seen..."

"It's fine," said Kasuka, without looking at him. "You're new."

The manager crossed his arms uncomfortably, looking a little worse for wear.

"Kasuka's really popular, I don't blame you," Shizuo said, taking pity on the poor man. "And Kasuka's signals are subtle for most people."

"That's why Lory chose me for the role, I think..." the man groaned, responding to Shizuo almost despite himself. "He _said_ it was my sensitivity. But if I can't even..."

Kasuka tugged on his manager's sleeve. "Manager," said Kasuka, slightly louder than usual.

"What?"

Kasuka tipped his face up, making eye contact. "No harm done." Kasuka's hands dropped to his sides.

His manager sighed, and seemed to genuinely relax for the first time.

Shizuo blinked. When they were kids, his mother used to call Shizuo high-strung, and complain (softly) that he should try to emulate his brother. This never seemed to work when Shizuo was by himself, but Kasuka's influence usually did help dampen Shizuo's reactivity when they were together in a way that nobody else could. The term could describe his new manager as well. Kasuka seemed to have a similar calming effect on him as he had with Shizuo.

Kasuka smiled at Shizuo. "Lovely."

"What would you like?"

"Sukiyaki."

"Old haunt, new haunt?"

Kasuka's shy smile crept up. "Old. Ikebukuro. We'll take you." Kasuka whispered some instructions to his manager, who snapped to atttention. Shizuo's answering smile was both nostalgic and slightly lame.

"I think you owe us a proper introduction," Kasuka's manager said, a little nervously.

"When the crowds pass," Kasuka replied tersely.

Shizuo ignored that. "Shizuo Heiwajima, older brother of Kasuka and employee of LME." Shizuo bowed slightly.

"Kiyotaka Hikawa." Hikawa bows.

"When did you and Kasuka start working together?"

"Two weeks ago," Hikawa replies. "As you can see, it's been a little rough." He smiles ruefully. "I can't believe he's been handling the attention by himself for so long."

Shizuo coughs and looks away. "I, uh, had no idea..." He's usually the one playing Kasuka's bodyguard, albeit from a distance, whenever Kasuka went to Ikebukuro, which for a long time was the only place where Kasuka was seriously popular.

"Shizuo's been taking care of me for a while," Kasuka chipped in, surprising them both. "In Ikebukuro."

"I heard you got a death threat the last time you went there," Hikawa said.

"Aa—aah... He showed up," said Kasuka.

"What happened?"

"Shizuo stopped him," Kasuka said.

"_What_?"

"It was _not_ the kind of thing you ever want to witness," Shizuo said hastily, in case Hikawa got the wrong idea.

Hikawa kind of looked at him as if Shizuo had grown two heads.

"He was a nut, but he wasn't really a fan," said Shizuo. "Supposedly it was his girlfriend, but someone else—"

"How do you know?" said Hikawa. "Surely you didn't have time to ask him questions!"

"Not him, no. It was posted on the internet before the attack."

"Then—"

"If Lory finds out who was behind it he'll probably kill me. It was a one-off anyway," said Shizuo. "Suffice to say it will never happen again because it didn't happen for the reasons that you would consider a direct threat to Kasuka in your line of work. Like sheer popularity. Only someone with outside sources and knowledge could have predicted it."

"Um..."

Kasuka said, "Manager Hikawa-san, it's really all right. This was all in the past. If you keep asking questions, Shizuo will lose his job."

"Okay," said Hikawa. He glued his mouth shut.

"I wasn't going to tell him anything," Shizuo protested.

Kasuka just frowned at him, then turned to Hikawa and said, almost as a rebuke, "You should feel better because there are two people protecting me instead of just one." _One, which means you. _Shizuo bets Kasuka hasn't said anything quite so long or forceful to Hikawa so far.

Hikawa swallowed hard. "Okay, yeah. Um. Right." He looked so conflicted. For the second time, Shizuo felt a little sorry for him. Lory Takarada _did_ pick the right manager for his brother; Shizuo knew that with most people, it would have taken months or years for Kasuka to have picked up the easygoing responsiveness and the singleminded focus he had on Hikawa and Hikawa's feelings. If Hikawa _really_ had a hard time with Kasuka, Kasuka would be ignoring him outright. But Hikawa would not be confident of himself for a while yet, because that was just how these things went.

"Nii-san," Kasuka said, pulling Shizuo back to attention.

"Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking." Shizuo glanced at Hikawa. "I didn't expect him to be here."

"Should I leave?" Hikawa asked.

Kasuka uneasily shifted in his seat. He clearly didn't want to be rude to Hikawa.

"No, you don't have to," Shizuo said, and Kasuka stopped shifting. "It's just—it'll be a little over your head. It's about old friends of ours. Can you bear it for a while?"

Hikawa nodded.

Shizuo filled Kasuka in on his role in the saga of Celty and her head. (Shizuo wondered what Hikawa could possibly have gotten out of this part, had he been listening instead of texting on his cell phone.) When Shizuo got to his epiphany, when he realized he loved Celty, Kasuka sighed and stopped the story.

"_Baka_." Kasuka crossed his arms and frowned at Shizuo.

"I know..." Shizuo groaned.

"Better not to confess than to confess late," said Kasuka, frowning at Shizuo.

"That's not what the storybooks say," Shizuo says gloomily. "Though I can see it both ways. But what do I _do_, Kasuka?"

"She made her decision."

"So suck it up, you're saying," Shizuo summarized, brutally honest. "But what if I can't? I don't want my feelings for her to last past the wedding. I'd never be able to face her again."

"Then they won't."

"Kasuka, feelings _don't do what you want them to do_," Shizuka said, a little testily.

"True. But." Kasuka shrugged.

"But everyone else gets through this so I should too, huh? Well that's a_ lot_ of help, Kasuka!" Shizuo sat back and scowled.

When Kasuka looked up, his face was completely blank and devoid of emotion.

Suddenly Shizuo regretted putting pressure on Kasuka. He shrunk a little. "No, I'm the one who should be saying that..."

They were both staring out the window lost in thought when suddenly Kasuka said, "Get her a good wedding present. Don't hold anything back."

"Huh?" Shizuo blinked.

"Put enough effort and money into it that you regret the expense, something so desirous she will never forget you for it. Even if you never see each other again."

Shizuo's eyebrows knit together. "I don't really get it, but if you say so."

Kaskua simply nodded.

"So, now that I have kept you up on my life story, I have some questions for you."

"Then say them."

"How did you end up with a manager?"

Kasuka looked up. "Hikawa-san. Hikawa-san."

"Hm?" Hikawa flipped his phone shut. "What? Kasuka-san?"

Shizuo sighed, wishing that Kasuka was a little more forthcoming. "Hikawa-san, I've been wanting to ask for a while, but how did you come to be Kasuka's manager...?"

"Oh, it's very simple really..." Hikawa was happy to respond. He chattered away and Kasuka stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting until Shizuo was forced to take leave, and then Kasuka said goodbye.

* * *

"_Konbanwa_, Rinku-ojisan."

"_Moshimoshi_. Eh? Eh? Yashiro-kun?" Uncle Rinku's voice is baffled.

"Yes, that's me," Yashiro says.

"I wasn't expecting you," said Uncle Rinku.

"I heard something about you from a guy named Simon. At a Russian Sushi restaurant."

"Simon," Rinku repeated. "I see."

"He said you were working for a company with bad rumors about it," Yashiro ventured tentatively.

"I'm quite all right."

"I hope so."

"You're too sweet."

Yashiro shook his head. "No... I just took some friendly advice, is all."

"It was drunken raving, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

Uncle Rinku was silent for a while. "Probably."

"Simon said you were looking for somebody to test for psychic powers."

"I did? I don't think so. I must have been desperate. That's not"-Rinku coughed-"really part of my company's mandate, you see. Although I can see why you would be interested."

"Yes, it would be nice not to break any watch that comes in contact with my skin for thirty seconds. —What does the company do, then?"

"Pharmaceuticals, of course. It used to be called Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. The new name is Nebula Pharma."

"Ah. Simon seemed to think it was a front."

"Well..." Yashiro could almost hear Rinku mentally squirming.

Yashiro rubbed his forehead. "You're not in financial trouble of any kind, are you?"

"What? No, of course not. I'm not even in the investing business anymore."

"What _are_ you doing then?"

"Accounting."

Yashiro breathed a sigh of relief. That sounded stable and non-suspicious...at least at first glance. "Okay. It's just, the things you said to Simon made it seem like you stumbled onto a big secret of some kind."

Uncle Rinku's voice was quiet. "You really have grown up. These things happen. It is nothing to worry about."

"If you have any doubts at all, don't keep silent, Uncle. Come see me."

"You're a good nephew, but I couldn't impose on you. No. Let your dear uncle investigate on his own for a while. There might be nothing wrong, after all."

"Come see me if things get difficult," Yashiro insisted. "And be careful. Please."

"We'll see. It's a small thing, I might be wrong."

"Please."

"I promise, ere I swallow a thousand needles."

Yashiro tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly blocked his throat, and forced himself to choke the words out: "Thank you. Goodbye."

"It was good to hear from you. Goodbye."

Yashiro hung up the phone on its hook and turned to Tsuruga-san. "He's up to something," he said, and cleared his throat.

"Something big?"

Yashiro shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. He's only doing accounting..."

Tsuruga shrugged and said, "He may discover something, whether he likes it or not."

"Precisely," Yashiro said, sounding troubled.

Tsuruga patted his manager's shoulder. "Probably it will be fine."

"I know, but...the whole thing is much too strange."

* * *

"Kyoko!"

"_Hai_? Tsuruga-san."

"I have something to talk to you about...did you head over to Sawara-san's office already?"

"What? No, not yet. Why?"

Tsuruga panicked and backpedaled.

"It's—it's congratulations I mean to say. We're acting...opposite..." Tsuruga grimaced. Anything to keep away from Izaya. What he was saying was true, but there was no way she was going to take this calmly, and he wasn't sure if she was even supposed to know yet. He wanted to talk it over with her, but now that he was right in front of her, there was just no way that was going to happen.

"Huh?"

"You passed auditions for _Beauty and the Beast,_" Tsuruga said slowly, when his heart had calmed down, and then he waited for the penny to drop. "So congratulations. I am also in the production."

Kyoko put her hands to her ears and _shrieked_, running around in small circles and having hysterics and completely forgetting who was there to see. "Me? With Tsuruga-san? Inconceivable! Why would they put such an inexperienced actress alongside the great Tsuruga-san...? This must be a dream! A dream! _Tell me_, this must be a DREAM! Tsuruga-san is too perfect—! Yes, too perfect for the role, someone would interfere and the loveliness would be shattered! It's TOO GOOD to be TRUE! Ahhhh! How am I ever going to live up to his image? I don't want to stain Tsuruga-san's career—!"

Tsuruga winced and quietly, very quietly, edged away.

"Eh? He's gone! What happened? I can't believe this is happening that had to be a hallucination of some kind! Kyaaaaa~!"

Luckily Moko came along and got her calmed down enough to help her start making sense, although Kyoko was so throughly thrown for a loop that she didn't quite emerge from daydreams for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Author's Note:__ Please review! I really worked hard on this chapter and I would love to hear your thoughts on it!_


	21. Break 10

Break #10: Wedding Day Travails and the Sharpest of Memories

In her wedding dress, Celty could have been a queen. Against tradition, she had chosen the color black, at Shinra's request; he said he couldn't imagine her in any other color. Against that color, the gentle blue-green eyes that gazed out of her face appeared serene and otherworldly.

Celty liked her wedding dress because it was a conservative, though rather expensive and decadent, like a costume piece. Its style featured a long neck, which meant she could forgo the scarf, and it made the veil look like it belonged there. The sleeves were long and so was the dress, but there wasn't much train. It looked deceptively simple. The material: chiffon, damask, crinoline, muslin. The blackness of the cloth ranged from pure, almost velvet, to a dark bluish-grey smoke.

Shinra couldn't have put any of that into words. What he saw was beauty itself, and that could not be described.

* * *

In the church wings somewhere, Shinra and Celty were waiting, passing every agonizing minute waiting for the ceremony to finally start.

"Did you recognize everyone in the church?"

"Just about."

"There's more people here than I thought there would be. What do you think, thirty or so?"

"Uh-huh. Your mother?"

"Yes, she's here."

"You want to talk to her?"

Shinra shrugged, a little uncomfortably. "Maybe later. That she came..."

Celty gripped his elbow.

"...That's enough. I think. For now."

Celty's hand slipped; Shinra snagged her hand and held it.

"Are you ready?"

"I am. Yes."

"Let's go," said Celty, but they lingered. Shizuo and Shingen walked in and they broke apart suddenly. Celty sighed a little. Shingen was, ever obstinate, still wearing his lab coat. But at least they had convinced him to take off the face mask for the ceremony; that was a victory in itself.

Shinra crossed to Shingen's side. "Is mother...?"

"Waiting," Shingen replied, quietly. "Come."

And Celty and Shizuo were left alone. Consciousness of the fact came suddenly, as a shock that made them both start a little.

Celty had trouble meeting Shizuo's eyes. But it was all right, because Shizuo was not seeking hers.

"Here we are," Celty whispered.

"Yes. Are you ready?"

"I am," she said, and her reply was resolute. She did not need to say another word.

"Good," Shizuo said, his voice as low it could go. Unexpectedly, something in Shizuo relaxed, for Celty was completely sure about her decision. Something that had been knocked loose, that had been ricocheting around his heart and causing all kinds of havoc, dropped back into place. He couldn't analyze it and make out quite what it was, but it stabilized him.

Shinra had been right. Everything would be fine. It was entirely possible that in time, they could go back to being friends again, even if the form it took was different. The thought almost made him dizzy with relief.

Namie, in her bridesmaid dress, appeared in the doorway. "It's time," she said.

* * *

Shinra's mother dressed in all red. Not alarmingly so, not like a seductress or adulteress at all, which was what Celty had been half-expecting. She wore a large, wide-brimmed red hat. Not that it was all red; the translucent parts could have been mistaken for pink. Her dress, which was a two piece, of a scarf, a blouse, and a modest pencil skirt: dark red, carefully modest, with an airy, breezy flower motif that did not shout either youth or respected age. She wore nylon hose—a brownish red. It was so unprovocative as to seem deliberate. If it was possible, this use of red was almost—unabashed, yet subdued, almost to the point of penitence.

Most unlike the color.

It was almost like a silent message.

The face under the wide-brimmed hat was pretty, but not young. When she sat on the bench and took off her hair, it was plain to see that her hair, put up primly and properly, was streaked with white. Her expression—unreadable; but perhaps a little too composed. Her hands moved restlessly, but the compulsive fidgeting was almost unnoticable because she moved them so slowly and smoothly. She looked somber.

Celty watched her. She was the only one who appeared especially anxious. Celty was pretty sure it was not anxiety about the wedding itself and concern over whether it would work out on Shinra's behalf, however, but more likely her attentuated attachments to her son and her ex-husband and what it meant that she was sitting there, in the place of family, a place she hadn't occupied in a long time.

Celty wondered whether she would like her if she got to know her. Whatever her personal decisions had been, she seemed like a thoughtful person, perhaps even overly considerate. Sharp, as well, and courageous; she must have been, for having dealt with Shingen for any length of time when she was still young.

* * *

During the ceremony, Izaya and Shizuo stood so stiffly in their places that sometimes Celty wondered if they were trying to imitate wax statues. Luckily she could still see them breathing or she might have worried.

Kadota was supposed to be the best man, standing between them, but he came down with the flu at the last minute. It was winter season after all; these things happened. He was profusively apologetic. Shinra seized up with dread when he heard the news and hung up the phone.

After a brief consultation with Celty, he put Izaya in Kadota's place and hoped for the best. Shinra didn't doubt that Izaya could make some fine speeches on the fly if he had to—and it seemed that was what would happen—but he was a little worried about what Izaya would say.

However, Izaya quite efficiently put Shinra's concerns to rest. He still owed a debt to Shinra, he said, that he had yet to repay. It was not impossible for him to curb his tongue if Shinra wished him to and pay the proper compliments for the sake of appearances. And so Shinra threw up his hands and gave up control of whatever came next.

Now it all came down to whether he could get along with Shizuo.

* * *

About a third of the way through the service, Izaya lost his balance and stumbled backwards into Shizuo. From where Shinra was standing, he didn't think it was on purpose—and he could see Izaya's eyes, which were wide with surprise—but Shizuo wouldn't think that. Of course.

From then on Izaya and Shizuo kept up a quiet game of Nudge-Nudge-Wink-Scowl. Shizuo was inclined to mess up and _actually_ scowl, but for the most part nobody in the audience could see why...and chalked it up to _something else_. Nudge-Nudge-Wink-Wink.

Namie glared daggers at Izaya whenever he escalated the situation. To his credit, when Izaya noticed this, he did try to shape up.

* * *

"...Will you in peaceful times, during sickness, protecting fidelity until death, love this person, respect this person, comfort person, help this person, fulfill these promises?"

"Yes, I so swear."

... "Yes, I so swear."

They looked into each other's eyes, and saw the promise there. The will to do so had been in them for a while, but given words on this day, the weight of that vow hovered between them, nearly visible, nearly corporeal.

* * *

Shizuo was so tall that he always had to lean over to fit into the wedding photos, and unfortunately the person he usually happened to lean over was Izaya. Of course. For once, Izaya was slightly more irritated by this than Shizuo was. Izaya impatiently tapped his foot long and loudly enough during the photo shoots to wake the underworld.

This made the picture-taking last quite a bit longer than it ought to have. By the end of it Celty thought that her smile was probably as runny as melted ice-cream. It kept slipping away, down the bottom of her face.

When the pictures were over, Celty's smile snapped into place as if it had never been struggling. Shinra blinked.

"I'm NOT smiling," she muttered to herself. "Why aren't I smiling?"

"I think the image of your mental image of your face isn't representing itself to your head very well, dear," Shinra said. "If that makes sense. I could try to explain but I'd sound even more confused."

"Oh,_ gods_, you heard me!"

"Hey, relax. You did fine. Anyway, actually, _traditionally_ speaking, everyone is supposed to look a bit dour in wedding photos, out of superstition."

"What kind of stupid superstitious memories are those?" Celty glared at him, perhaps thinking that he was teasing her. "Am I doing something wrong?" she demanded.

"No, not at all, which is what I was trying to tell you. What a lovely face. Look, even _those two_ are doing fine now," Shinra said hastily, trying to distract her.

"Please, kiss me before I start hyperventilating," Celty muttered crossly, rubbing her arms. Still—a slight flush appeared on her cheeks, and her expression gradually relaxed to something more natural.

Shinra snickered. That method, indeed, would probably work wonders. When they happened to be in a more private corner, which happened a little faster than he thought it would, thanks to Celty and her blessed smoke-shadows, he complied.

* * *

It was a little better at the reception. Izaya went to Shinra's right, and Shizuo to Celty's left, almost as if they had been assigned there. They almost sort of had—would have been—if Celty had actually thought about it... She didn't expect Namie to sit on Izaya's right, either, but it seemed to help. Whether he realized it or not, Izaya censored his worst tendencies around her; and whenever he made a mistake, she corrected him.

Shinra made his speech, which was absolutely _golden_, and passed out anecdotes and compliments about the newlyweds with flying colors. Somehow he made it seem as if he wasn't being ironic. Still, as Izaya was Izaya, everyone who knew him wondered.

Oh well. All in all, everything had gone rather smoothly so far. And it wasn't like anything better could have been hoped for, with Kadota under the weather. Although, doubtless, Kadota's stories would not have been as entertaining or as colorful as Izaya's.

Oh, and also, Shingen wasn't sitting next to his ex-wife, but then Celty hadn't expected him to. She simply noticed.

"Shall we dance?" Shinra asked. "To open the festivities?"

"By all means," Celty murmured. "And afterwards, we'll open the wine."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I think your cake was better than the reception's."

"Flatterer. Is the catered food really that bad? I feel sorry for our guests, then," Celty teased. Then she leaned close, brushing her lips past his ear. "But I'm glad you think so."

Shinra cheeks flamed a delicate red.

* * *

Celty politely declined a dance with Shingen. Shingen sank into the seat next to hers as if he had expected that, and made conversation that passed for reasonably sane. It was perhaps the most enjoyable conversation they had ever had. It was this that distracted her from the fact that Shinra had drifted over to talk to his mother. And then she noticed.

"Will they be all right?" Celty asked him, her eyes distant.

Shingen chuckled and looked over to where she was looking. "Who can say? Sometimes, the truth hurts. Sometimes the medicine is bitter. Sometimes, it's difficult to swallow the pill. Healing skin itches. At times, if the patient _isn't_ complaining, they might be in trouble."

"Would it be all right...for me, to, to..." Celty asked hesitantly.

"Go ahead," said Shingen. "They just needed some time."

"Don't you...?"

"No, we worked out our differences a long time ago. It may not look like it, but we _are_ resolved."

"But Shinra didn't? Wasn't?"

"No. He just bore the hurt, in silence. He was young and resilient when it happened. Ever since, I was waiting for him to ask...but he accepted my word for everything. You know how he was. As the years went by I was the one who forgot, because he didn't act like it mattered. And then he asked, because of the wedding, and suddenly I remembered that I _had_ been waiting."

"And she accepted that?"

"She felt guilty for ending it with me. More so _because_ of Shinra. She couldn't bear it. So neither did she ask."

"I see." Celty looked at her hands.

Shingen reached to lay a hand on her shoulder. Celty soundly smacked his fingers away without ceremony. Shingen flexed his hand, feeling the sting, and chuckled. "Ah, I am glad Shinra chose a feisty woman."

"Oh really? You've never acted like it," Celty muttered, rolling her eyes. "Are you quite sure a modest, demure, fairy-like girl wouldn't suit him better?" But she was joking, and Shingen knew it.

Shingen chuckled again.

Celty stood up and crossed to the floor where Shinra and his mother were sitting.

"Ah, Celty," said Shinra, looking preoccupied. "This is my mother."

His mother slowly raised her head. "How do you do?" she asked.

"Very well," Celty replied, and hastily made her greetings.

"Shinra was telling me about you. It seems he chose well. But perhaps you could have done differently?" Shinra's mother asked tentatively.

"I—" Celty was caught off guard. "I didn't set off to marry him, if that's what you mean. It feels like I was resisting him for forever. I haven't given up anything, I don't think. I gained something. So what else could I have done?"

"Good," Shinra's mother sighed. "It is well that you do not repeat my mistakes. I cannot really object to what my son has chosen, absent as I have been, but if I may, I think he chose well. It brings relief."

Celty also felt relief, of a slightly different kind. With as much composure as she could muster, she ventured, "If I may...might I know your name?"

"Shukufu," Shinra's mother answered immediately. "Shukufu Koorihashi is my maiden name."

"Koorihashi-san," Celty said experimentally.

"Yes. 'Koorihashi' as in, 'broken bridge.'"

"Have you caught up?" Celty faltered. "With Shinra, that is."

"Yes. I did it properly." She smiled.

"Shinra?"

"It is well," Shinra replied, a bit absently. "Mother, we'll keep in touch." Shinra reached out and squeezed Koorihashi's hand tightly for a second, and then let go.

"Thank you, my son," she said, and they left.

"You don't mind, do you?" Shinra asked once they were out of earshot.

"Mind what?"

"Another parent coming into our lives."

"Not at all. I think I would like to get to know Koorihashi-san better," Celty said quietly. "She seems genial and unassuming. Maybe even wise."

"Yes. I thought you might think so. But I needed to ask."

"I had no idea that you had this ache inside you. This is peculiar timing, to say the least, but I suppose if you are happy about it, I am too."

Shinra smiled wistfully. "I hid it well. To tell the truth, I also...forgot. I remembered her, but pursuing her felt like an unattainable dream, for a long time, something I couldn't even ask for, until the wedding happened and I came to my senses."

"Shinra?"

"What?" He turned back to her.

"I'm just curious, but...was there...anything that needed to be forgiven?"

"Of course. Nothing more than the usual complaints of abandoned children. But, more than that...I'm just glad she's back. We can tackle those things in time. I don't want to make her upset. Goodness, she acts guilty enough for three people. How could I hurt her with accusations? I don't know what was running through her mind back then. We've only just met, after a long time."

Celty suddenly linked arms with him and squeezed him closer. "Then I'm glad."

"As am I," said Shinra, wrapping his other arm around her for a quick hug.

* * *

Anri, Mikado and Masaomi behaved themselves impeccably. When it came time to present gifts, they admitted that they didn't have the cash to make a full and proper present for each of them, but all three together had scrounged for the right amount as a group. They were quite proud of themselves. Celty was surprised by their sincere effort, and was quite touched, though Shinra didn't blink an eye. Once Masaomi dragged them all out there, they semed to be having fun on the edges of the dance floor. The warmth in Celty's heart always grew when she watched them.

The rest of the Ikebukuro people sought her out one by one. Celty spent time talking to each of them and finding out a little more of who they were. They, along with the kids, were the first to leave the party, but Celty was grateful for the chance to talk to them.

The foreign woman mostly wanted to express her appreciation for the invitation and the experience she had in coming. Celty was glad she had enjoyed herself. Just in case another opportunity to meet came up, they exchanged contact information. It was then that Celty remembered something; she told the woman about the _naginata_ classes she and Namie had been attending, and the woman seemed keenly interested.

The old man had made copies of almost his entire art portfolio. He gave the lot to an astonished Celty, who took them graciously.

"I won't be drawing you anymore," he said. "You may as well have the originals as well, but I thought you might not accept them. In any case, these ones have been cleaned up, so they are not as raw."

Celty shook her head vigorously. "No, it's all right, I don't mind. You don't have to go that far!"

"The compulsion has left me, that's all," said the old man. "Now I can draw whatever I want." He smiled. "A prettier albeit unlikely muse I couldn't have asked for. Because of you, I practiced until I had trained a real talent. I owe my profession to you and your inspiration."

Celty denied it, but he was adamant. "I can do great things now. I know it. When I accomplish something, I'll make sure you know," he insisted. "You'll be one of the first to have a look."

The Blue-Squares looked a bit glum about Kadota's absence, but they also seemed to be trying hard to have a good time to honor their memory of the occasion. For them, the typical way this went was to discuss obscure anime topics of all kinds and relive the greatest fan shipping wars and debates until they gave up and started singing their favorite show tunes.

_"Uragiri no yuuyake / yakkai ni (mhmhmhee) ase wo..." _Walker sang softly. "..._MASHIN wa sakebu utau youni / BLOW UP LOUD / Mukachi na yousei wa soko ni iru / BLOW UP LOUDER / Tsuganai wa kudaketa ai no kakera / aaaahhhh—!_"

"What's that from?" asked Togusa. "It sounds ill-fated. But pretty. And mysterious."

"I have no idea. Or this one either: '_Kagirinaku hirogaru / masshiro na ashita ni / nani wo egaku / (Whooah, whoah, whoa!) / Genjitsu ga shimeyuku / makkura na ashita ni / nani wo egaku / Mogaki kagayaku...' " _Walker tapped the beat on the table.

"Hopeful? Maybe?" Togusa shook his head. "At least open-ended about the future. Which we have the power to change. I have no idea. Wait a sec, I might have a handle. '_Aaah, asahi wo noboru / BIRU no tanima / Ima shinjireba, kawaru no sa / Muimi ja nai ano yume wo..._"

"That's the first song. That part's lyrics are a little like the second, though, if you think about it," said Walker. "Thematically, they're similar."

"Right." Togusa grimaced. He had a good memory for music, but he always felt (mistakenly) that he was no good at the game since his background was more broadly jazz and Jpop than specifically anime.

Erika piped up. "Oh, I've also got one stuck in my head that I can't place. Kind of similar thoughts. '_Konna jidai niwa / Yume ga aru no kana? / __Sonna kuchiguse wa iya kita kedo / __Zutto warubuttekita tsumori dakedo / __Saikin sore sae mo munashiku naru nda...' "_

Togusa shook his head. "Eerily enough, that almost seems to apply to us..." He looked a little green. "Like it's talking about what we're trying to find out by joining the Dollars."

They all became strained and drawn, and quiet. It wasn't, precisely, a happy thought.

"Do you remember anything else?" asked Togusa, politely.

'_Bokura wa jiyuu da, hikari wo __motomeru, tatoeba chou no you...' _" She made a face. "I can't remember any more. It's horrible..."

"So... a lyric about butterflies. Like a mind worm, except maybe it's a mind caterpillar," Walker offered, oh-so-helpfully. "Trying to break out of that chrysalis you call '_your brain_.' " Walker wiggled his mindsucking alien fingers. _Woo-woo.  
_

Erika giggled. "Don't start!"

Walker simply grinned and started spinning stories out of thin air. In this case was doing a stellar job of smashing together fate and physics and Chinese philosophy and zombies and the butterfly leitmotif into one huge and thrilling tall tale. This was his secret skill, the reason why he was assured that he had the talent to be a novelist. If only the plots made sense. Every once in a while, Togusa interjected to steer him back on track, because otherwise Walker's stories gave him headaches with all the questions he'd left unresolved. And Walker's story would keep on marching on...

A couple hours later, a tipsy Erika (which, mercifully, _did_ take a while, though she drank like a fish) babbled incomprehensibly about _yaoi_ and fangirling and giggled at inappropriate intervals. What any observer would have heard was _"Shizuo...kee-kh-kee...Celty..."_ or squeals about 'Shizaya,' an unlikely but very hot and sexy beast (apparently). She wasn't terribly explicit (luckily); the implications were bad enough. Walker moaned every time she said anything particularly ridiculous, which was a lot. At one point Walker playfully tied her mouth shut with an entire string of paper crepe he found lying around. In the five seconds of blessed silence after he secured the makeshift gag, Erika had chewed up the crepe, spat it out, and given Walker a reproachful look. Then she went right back to babbling.

It was quite harmless, really, and nobody ever took her seriously. Which was just how it should be.

* * *

It was past midnight, and nobody who was still around could think straight anymore.

"Dancing. No. Not gonna do it!" Izaya protested, looking more and more alarmed by the minute. Shinra was pressuring him. Namie watched him through narrowed eyes.

Shinra tugged Izaya's sleeve in a way that Izaya had come to really hate over the years. "C'mon, you did the karaoke thing with him at the grooms/bridesmaid wedding planning party..."

"We tried to DROWN EACH OTHER OUT! Remember?! Shinra? You were _very_ annoyed with me afterwards!"

"C'_mon_! Please?" Shinra begged.

"Why are you being so—? If I go along with your utterly unreasonable, incomprehensible, self-contradictory demands will you _promise_ _me_ you won't be put out?" Izaya glanced across the table and grasped at straws for inspiration. "Does _Celty_ know about this?" Fridge logic, but in a pinch... Izaya gulped, waiting for Shinra's answer.

"It'll be _fun_," said Shinra with a wobbly smile before he collapsed to the table. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her..."

"_Oh_, Shinra, she's right _there,_" Izaya replied, and tried — and failed — to get control of himself. _For goodness' sake,_ he thought, and slammed his hands on the table. Then he took deep, deep breaths, nearly venting steam through his nostrils, looking for all the world like a Chinese dragon with very, very wide eyes. "Fine. I'll do it. _If_ he agrees."

Shinra smiled and nodded, but he hadn't really comprehended.

Whose idea was it not to drink tonight... Oh yes, Shizuo's... Just in case it lowered their guards enough that they started fighting. Which had been wise at the time and was probably quite wise now. _But it wasn't _helping_, at this rate, because it'll happen anyway._

Izaya nervously met Shizuo's eyes across the table, and clenched his teeth. Then he squared his shoulders and opened his mouth and prepared to do the unthinkable. "THE GROOM SAYS," Izaya said loudly, e-nun-ci-at-ing his displeasure, "That he would like to see us _dance_."

"No," Shizuo rejected the suggestion immediately with the slightest of jerks of his head.

"Oh-thank-god," said Izaya, and he plopped straight down into his seat, feeling slightly winded. _Not tonight, of all nights. Shinra will kill me if I mess up his wedding. He was serious for once. And I still owe him from middle school._

Namie gripped his shoulder, her silent signal for damage control. He could become cool again if he could just _think_ another minute... _Breathe deep. This won't last. Don't get worked up._

But Izaya's reprieve didn't last long. At the other end of the table, Celty stirred. Izaya thought she had been asleep but apparently she had heard something of what was going on. "Oh, go on, it'll be fun," she mumbled. "Just this once."

Shizuo was appropriately shocked and horrified, and Izaya saw it. Izaya pulled free of Namie's grip and leapt to his feet again, tensed as if he had been shocked with a live wire. "Oh no, oh no, oh no no no, oh no... I _promised _Shinra that I wouldn't provoke anything—"

But that shock and horror was quickly turning into something else. Something potentially more sinister. "Oh, why not," said Shizuo, dangerously, as Izaya had known he would, because Celty had encouraged him. His eyes were lit with that particular beastly fire that nobody else had. "It's not like we ever do anything else. And _they_ asked for it." Shizuo jerked his head at Shinra and Celty, who had fallen back into half-awakeness.

"There is a _world_ of difference between fighting and _dancing_," Izaya objected, scowling, because in any other circumstances he would have been the one insisting on the other way around.

"Not really," said Shizuo.

"THAT'S the _problem_!" Izaya hissed, scathingly.

"Oh quit your whining. You just contradicted yourself. It's unbecoming for a small-time informant. We'll get this over with." Shizuo grabbed Izaya's wrist and dragged him to the dance floor. Izaya winced in pain and stumbled along. He could get himself out of almost anything else, but Shizuo's grip was nigh unbreakable.

Normally Izaya would pick this moment to draw his knife, start slashing, and get some distance between the two of them, but Shinra had confiscated all of Izaya's knives before the wedding reception, probably in anticipation of something like this. He had his one spare left, a tiny blade that he had started carrying tucked into the lining of his right shoe, just in case the his old enemies or the yakuza came for him one day, but with Shizuo dragging him around there was simply no chance of getting it out. _Dammit!_ Izaya hated being whittled down to his emergency resources, and he hated it doubly because those emergency resources were so hard to extract. Even in emergencies.

"You're going to give me a sprain," Izaya grunted, throwing his weight in the exact opposite direction from Shizuo's. If Shizuo's grip wouldn't do it, maybe he could give himself one and get out of this...

"But at least we're not fighting," Shizuo pointed out, not in the least inconvenienced. "I promised. You promised. So if you are not going to fight me, then I suggest you cooperate."

"Aa_aargh_—" Izaya growled, still struggling.

Shizuo adjusted his grip on Izaya's wrists, picked him up, and sent him flying through the air. It felt supremely good, as much because Shizuo finally had a little edge on Izaya as for the delight and satisfaction he got from letting his muscles work at peak capacity. "Because as long as Celty doesn't get upset at me, I really, really don't care," Shizuo said, sounding bored, as he spun Izaya in a circle, who immediately began yelling at him out of mingled surprise and desperation. "And this is _her_ special day."

After the second revolution Izaya clamped his jaw shut and stopped screaming at him, but only to preserve his dignity as best he could. There wasn't bloody much left at this point. He just held on.

Shizuo couldn't help it. He had to laugh at the grim, twisted face Izaya was making.

And here, unexpectedly, the entire situation became absurdly hilarious—for Shizuo. Shizuo roared with laughter, a forceful gale of it. (Izaya blinked spittle out of his eyes and grimly reflected on the titanic strength of Shizuo's lungs, which, he judged sourly, were just as inhuman as the rest of him.) Here and now, Shizuo could use his entire strength without fear of consequences. What an expression Izaya had! It was all the more funny because right now, Shizuo didn't have a reason to hurt Izaya. And furthermore, he _wouldn't_. That he had decided on. But of course Izaya didn't know that, he didn't even suspect it. Yet there was really nothing for Izaya to be afraid of. It was all in his head.

Shizuo kept his strength in check, testing his limits, drawing back when he felt he approached loss of control. When he had finished flinging Izaya around, he lifted him up and set him on the ground as lightly as a feather. Before Izaya could regain his senses, he whisked him into a quick, sinuous, twining swing dance, forcing Izaya to stumble through the steps after him. Shizuo's height was in his favor; Izaya never could get the leverage he needed to wrench his hands out of Shizuo's firm grip or stall his momentum. Izaya's pride meant that rather than making himself look stupid while digging his heels when he couldn't possibly win gracefully, Izaya gave up resistance. More than that: he did everything perfectly, efficiently, smoothly.

But the dance had to end. When Izaya saw his chance to break free, he took it. It was like felling a tree. At a weak point in the dance, he hooked his left leg around Shizuo's and sent them both crashing to the ground, Shizuo on the bottom and Izaya on top. Nobody could say he liked being in that position: as powerful as it looked, realistically, it was still too vulnerable. Izaya leapt to his feet and scrambled away as quick as his shaking legs could take him while Shizuo slowly pulled himself up to his knees, and then to his feet.

Izaya lost his balance and stumbled back, back and back. When he hit the wall, he stuck out an arm and let it support him—if only he could keep standing. He gulped for breath and his whole body shook, from the tips of his toes to the extent of his fingers. If he didn't calm down soon, strong stomach or not, he thought he was going to puke. If he didn't fall over. Which meant sugar was in order, he thought, deliriously. Blood sugar. Hahaha. Time for cake. Yes, he'd make Namie get some. This had not happened to him in years, in _years_, although he clearly remembered having had this feeling of—aftershock.

He was so focused on patching up the frazzled ends of himself that he almost forgot to pay attention to what Shizuo was doing. Then Izaya looked for him surreptitiously. Why hadn't he approached yet?

Shizuo caught his gaze. He didn't step forward. He just bowed to his partner.

When he straightened, before gala looked away, Izaya thought Shizuo's golden eyes looked almost—cool. Speculative. Not angry, not desperate, not cornered. He had the correct emotional distance. He was looking at Izaya, and he had _gotten his thinking straight_. No way. That's not what was supposed to happen then. Whenever they met eyes, Shizuo was supposed to go out of his freaking mind.

Had the power Izaya had wielded over him ever since high school completely waned? Where was that effortless mind control, that ability he had to perfectly deduce what Shizuo was thinking and what he would do next? _Something had changed_. Yes, this had been a mistake. He had known it from the beginning. How big, Izaya didn't know.

After a moment, Izaya bowed back, and then he turned and scraped his way off the stupid floor. Namie wordlessly tucked his coat around his shoulders when he dropped back into his seat at the table. It was a sign of how throughly beaten Izaya had been that he forgot to complain, snap, and argue with her about the totally unnecessary show of sympathy. Except it wasn't entirely...unnecessary. He huddled in his seat and said nothing. He heard a chair scrape back, forward—that was Shizuo, sitting down. No, Izaya wouldn't look at him. In between Izaya and Shizuo, Celty and Shinra were snoring.

Shizuo had unnerved Izaya in a way no one else had done in all his years of life, in a way that was purposely, emphatically non-violent. It was no less than he deserved, Izaya reflected, for having done the same to Shizuo week after week for the past couple of years. And yet, for all that, his shock was all the more disquieting.

But if he just sat there thinking, he was going to collapse for sure. "Namie," Izaya hissed. "'m exhausted. I need cake. And the strawberry punch. Quickly!" Izaya ordered Namie.

Namie, shocked, did as he asked without fuss.

Izaya forced himself to put every bite his mouth and chew slowly. When he couldn't eat, he drank something. He consumed until his fingers stopped shaking quite so badly, and the hollow feeling inside had gone. When he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, he unsteadily laid down his fork and fell asleep. There were three hours left until Shizuo and Namie left on their honeymoon.

* * *

Celty propped her eyes open. "Lovely theatrics out there."

"Yeah," Shinra said beside her. "Quite beautiful. Who do you think they are?"

"They look an awful lot like..."

"Naw. It can't be..."

"But wouldn't that be spectacular. Doesn't this seem like a dream?"

"Yes."

"Working together like that. It would be marvelous."

"Yes."

"Just for us..."

"Ha, ha, ha. As if...how could that ever happen...?"

Celty and Shinra snuggled together, eyes drifting shut. She never quite realized what it was they had started. And they probably would never be told, either. Namie didn't feel like enlightening them.

Was this a good thing? Was this really a _good thing_? She suddenly felt nauseous. Sick worry landed a seed in the pit of her stomach, refusing to be uprooted as easily as a common garden weed.

Because as she watched, the more concerned she became. It almost felt like the cat-and-mouse game that Izaya and Shizuo always played had been irrevocably changed. It had not been just a dance. Their roles had changed places. This might look like business was normal, it might have looked better than that—nothing destroyed, no one hurt, but—Namie gripped her seat—she was quite sure. Nothing would be the same. When things changed, the situation would destabilize. In the short run, yes, peace had won. But in the end? People would get hurt.

But that was inevitable.

Namie grit her teeth and endured. That was what she did.

* * *

"Who did we leave in charge of the getaway car?" asked Shinra.

"Uh. Shizuo, I think," Celty replied.

Shinra squinted at the car. "What did he do to it?"

"Wrote on it. In neon colors."

"Yeah, but I don't recognize..."

Celty patted Shinra's shoulder. "It's in English. They borrowed an American wedding tradition."

"English. English. Oh! I see!" Shinra quickly dismissed it from his mind. To him, the meaning wasn't all that important. The only English he found memorable was related to his scientific discipline.

Celty smile was a little weak. The words were, she guessed, a message to her. They looked cool and all that... Did Shizuo forget that she could read Japanese, Gaelic _and_ English?

The back window said, "FOR THE WOMAN WHO HAD TO LOSE HER HEAD TO MARRY A DOCTOR. EXCEPT THEN SHE FOUND IT AGAIN. REMEMBER ME. HAVE A HAPPY HONEYMOON. 3. XOXO. LUCK. BREAK A LEG. HAHA. NO, PLEASE DON'T REALLY, YOU'RE MORE THAN STRONG ENOUGH ALREADY AND THAT METHOD DOESN'T USUALLY WORK THAT WAY FOR MOST PEOPLE. STAY SAFE." The rest of the car was spattered with the usual Engrish, as camouflage: HAVE A LOVELY STAY IN VERY MERRY MARRY PARADISE. ENJOY VITAMIN JUICE AND LUCKY FOURLEAF CLOVER IN GREEN GREEN MACHINE IRELAND. JOY IN LUXURIOUS EMERALD ISLANDS LIKE BAHAMAS.

How ... conspicuous.

She read the Engrish again, just for kicks, to make sure she understood everything. _Emerald islands like bahamas._ She almost busted a gut trying to keep from laughing. _Let me tell you, one island is not as good as another... As all good Japanese people should know!_

"It comes off with water," said Shizuo, coming up from behind her. He was so silent, she hadn't heard his footsteps.

"Oh," Celty said faintly. "Are you sure you weren't supposed to conveniently forget to tell us that? That's how pranks are, right?"

He looked down at her. "Too late now. I'll hose it off after you get to the airport, if you like."

"Thanks, please. Tell me neither Shinra nor Izaya can read it..."

Shizuo bit his lip. "Shinra, no. Though I wouldn't put it past Izaya." He hadn't thought about that before. In an instant, worry and guilt streaked across his face. It _had_ been a weird message.

Celty rubbed her aching head. "At least I'll be gone for half a year. He'll have forgotten."

"Probably," Shizuo agreed, relaxing a little. "I have a present for you."

"What is it?"

"It's in the car. You'll find it, eventually."

"It's not too expensive, is it? Don't test me. Please."

Shizuo turned away. "It's just something to remember me by, not to make you fall in love with me. Because I love you. And I need to let go of you. It's like...what would you call it? My tribute of surrender."

"Shizuo..."

"Celty, I do things my own way. Kind of. It was my brother Kasuka's idea really. Take it. I want to go back to being friends. This is the promise I've made to get over myself. If possible, I'm going to find someone else to fall in love with while you're gone. I promise I'll clear things up with Shinra if I've inadvertently put you in a bad place."

"Don't make promises like that." Celty twisted her fingers and looked down at the ground. "About finding love. It's not a thing to be hurried, or timed. It's no good under pressure." She looked up at him. "...Okay?"

Shizuo nodded assent.

Shinra got in and started the car, and started yelling incomprehensibly, at least until he started laughing and coughing at the same time. He turned the key again and let the car die.

"What else did you do?" Celty queried, curious.

But Shizuo pressed his lips together and shook his head. He didn't know.

"CONFETTI! Dammit!" Shinra punched the wheel of the car and made it honk, making everyone jump. "Why why why why why why why...! There's this cloud of confetti coming out of the air vents! What if that paper makes something fry?" Machinery has never been Shinra's strong point. Celty tittered behind her hand.

"That must have been Izaya," Shizuo said immediately.

"_Was_ it?" Shinra lurched out of the car. "He loves to prank me, almost as much as you, but not quite, obviously..."

_Bang_. That was the reception hall door slamming shut. "Actually, it was Namie's idea," Izaya drawled, walking towards the car. "But _I_ instituted it. She thought it was cute. I thought it was suitably annoying. What do you think? Are we both right? Or what?" He crossed his arms, looking smug. But he also looked tired. He had probably only gotten a few hours of sleep.

Celty made a face at Izaya and deliberately kissed Shinra on the forehead. In a low voice for only Shinra to hear, she said, "Don't worry, I can take care of the confetti. When the celebration is over."

"How—?" Shinra blinked at her.

"Magic," she said simply. Celty let a curl of smoke escape from her fingers.

Shinra got it. "Ah. Of course."

Shizuo cleared his throat. "I'll be taking you back to the apartment to get changed. Then I'll drive you to the airport. Sound good?"

"We're honeymooning in Ireland," said Shinra, as if everyone didn't know, as if it was still a dream to him. Which it probably was.

She smiled anyway. "Ireland," Celty echoed. "Sounds nostalgic. Like returning back to an old home. Do you think I'll have outgrown it? Shinra?"

He shrugged and grinned, goofily. "Won't know 'till we go find out, will we?"

* * *

The newlyweds got in the car, and Shizuo drove them away. Namie and Izaya stood back on the blacktop and waved goodbye.

Izaya turned back to the reception hall and sighed. "Why does the best man have to clean up after the party? Where's Kadota when I need him?" he complained.

Namie rolled her eyes. "Admit it, you liked giving the speeches."

Izaya shrugged.

"Tell me, were you serious or not?"

Izaya shrugged again. "95% of the time? The facts were all true, anyway."

"And your opinions?"

Izaya raised an eyebrow. "One way of looking at things. If I chose to adopt that view."

Namie walked away. Turning in slow circles, she pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. Then she stopped. "And the dance?" she asked, turning slowly. This was the question that really rested on thin ice.

Izaya's lips thinned. He whipped around and wrenched open the reception hall doors. Eyes dark, he said, "Let's get busy. I don't want to waste our time."

Namie did not press the subject.

They started working. It quickly became clear that Izaya was no good for cleaning up that day. Remembering the workout he had the previous day, she didn't call him out on it. That would embarrass him. His arms had the strength of wet noodles; he couldn't lift a thing to save his life. Namie made him sweep the floor, pick up trash, and fold tablecloths instead while she dragged all the furniture around. It was not the best of starts to her day. Nor to his; there was no other word for it—he was glum. He quickly ran out of things he could do and spent the rest of the time weaving in and out of awareness. When at last the room was clean, she turned out all the lights and dragged Izaya to his feet—he kept swaying—and called a taxi. It was a horrid waste of money...no, worth it, she firmly decided; there was no way Izaya could have endured the train back to his apartment.

Namie didn't know how they got up all the stairs to the apartment itself. She unlocked the apartment, went in, stripped Izaya's shoes off (yes, he fell asleep on his feet) and pushed him in front of her to his bedroom, and put him to bed, with all his nice clothes on. She placed a hand on his temple, just to check. It was a little feverish, so she fetched a cool cloth, some water, and some pudding, and put it at his bedside.

She turned out the light, and did something quiet. It was just an intuition, but she had the feeling that she ought to be able to hear him when he woke up, or she would be irresponsible. And then her own exhaustion washed over her, and then she was gone.

* * *

_Author's Note: _

_Shinra's and Celty's vows are Japanese-style. I thought I might as well._

_Shinra's mother is a bit of a loose cannon. She just popped in there. Because of the color red. Because I hate leaving a question unfulfilled (like what happened to Shinra's mother, since he grew up with his father). Bear with me... I know not everyone likes side-trips. Especially extra-canon ones. Oh...and Koorihashi/Broken Bridge is no accident. It's meant to be a reference to the expression "Burning Bridges" and also "Mending Bridges." The kanji for "Shukufu," her first name, mean "gentle assistance."_

_I'm pretty sure that Shinra as I've written him didn't react the way most kids would to parents' separating. Of course, he's kind of a weird person already. Although he's got an adult view of his father nowadays, when he was a kid, his father was everything, and he trusted him implicitly—a little too much, sometimes. Enough not to question practicing surgery at that tender age (I can't remember the facts exactly, but it was too young)._

_The ex- Blue Squares gang's showtunes are all the Japanese lyrics to the Durarara anime songs, "Uragiri no Yuuyake," "Complication," and "Butterfly." Which is why they can't remember them :-) because they're _in_ them._

_That aside, I encourage you to review this chapter. I feel like I am finally moving forward and making progress with the theme suggested in the title. According to my mental calculations (which could be entirely wrong) I am halfway through the story._


	22. Break 10,5

Break #10.5: Another Island—Ireland

Celty felt nothing in particular when she stepped off the plane and onto the airport. There customs to deal with and languages to decode. She had Gaelic and English, but she had to translate to Japanese for Shinra, and that was not a skill she was used to exercising normally; and furthermore, the dialects had changed since she had been there last. The place was modern. It was not the place she remembered—and that was fine. But it didn't feel quite like hers anymore, and that was a peculiar feeling.

She didn't feel much of anything when they stepped onto the blacktop, and got into the taxi. She took out the itinerary Shinra had prepared, and followed every step. Shinra slept soundly on her shoulder, exhausted by the trip.

They arrived. She pushed an incoherent Shinra out of the cab, and slid herself out after him. She felt—_something_ was there when she stepped onto the Earth, but the impression went as soon as it came. They got settled; Shinra gave up on staying up late and went to bed. Celty told him she needed some time. And she did.

She walked outside again, and snapped her shadows. It wasn't her black catsuit that she wore now but her knight armor from the old days. She had business with Ireland. Nations and countries, particularly islands, tended towards sentience, and only the twilight people could sense that being—and were bound by it.

She stepped out on the bare earth, and squished her toes in the mud. She sighed. Shinra would have disapproved—it was dirty. But she couldn't do this any other way. Because—_aaaah_, _yes:_ this was _Ireland _yawning beneath her, whispering beneath her feet, flowing with power, boosting her strength, healing the bond that had been broken.

She had missed it. Achingly so, though it had always been in the back of her mind, and having forgotten as much as she had, she was rarely conscious of it.

_I've come back, _she thought.

The flow of Ireland's life-force shivered once, pooling around her feet, then went back to its normal flow, leaving behind only the sighing of wind over grass and rushes.

She was free to stay or go. She was only one of numbers of sentient beings living on its soil.

She smiled a little. _I live somewhere else now, _she told the land.

In response, the land bent to listen, crowding her a little intimidatingly. What she was about to do—it was tantamount to a citizen renouncing their home citizenship to the national consul...

_I am leaving for a new home,_ she thought firmly. _I must go. I have something—a family, with a human. You must let me go._

Ireland thrummed about her, pressuring her, reminding her of the difficulty involved. But she pressed on, and it receded, leaving the faint sense of unease behind it under a shivering thread of moonlight—she may have granted the right to an audience, but there would be a test. The land's lazy ripples told her of its unconcern, that few succeeded at this task and it doubted she would stand up to the challenge, all too secure in its own abilities of coercion._  
_

When the sense of Ireland was finally gone, Celty stood breathless, reeling a little, feeling as if she had been hypnotized. She shook herself out of it, rinsed her feet before she went back inside, and crawled into bed next to Shinra.

She dreamed.

It was only a few hours, but she dreamed of herself having many lives. They were the lives of stories that she had heard before, of other twilight folk whom she knew of but had never known, the whispers that were passed down over the centuries as gossip races through a town. She was the subject of many fairy-tales, all repeating the same theme, over and over, always in the role of the fairy-wife: the elf-woman, the selkie, the mer-maid, the dryad, the nymph, the swan, the enchantress. They all ended nearly the same way. Promises broken, she returned home, husband cursed or dead. She left when the rules were broken. She had to. She'd known when she made them up.

And in between the dreams, the Irish people of the twilight spoke to her as one. This was the test.

_Dullahan, do not part from us. We are home. We are family. You are us. Who would you be without us? Will you be nothing? Do not forsake your being! _The throng shrilled this last, hitting a high note as they thrilled with fear: fear for her, fear for each other, fear of death. But even so, she knew they were wrong. _We are tales, we are stories told by human cradles, we are ancient and we exist forever and always. We abide by no rules but our own. We follow the dawn of time, and now you would desert us? Do not forget you are ours. You can never leave our kinship. You cannot be other. You will be cut off. Your immortality will fade as the falling of leaves—is that not all that you are? Is that not enough? Is that for which have earned the envy of mankind?_

_It is not all I am, _Celty repeated, over and over. _I am not all of what you are. Some of me is my self._

_Strange child!_ They hissed, when they had tired of asking questions with no answers. _There must be something. Something always brings what is ours back to us! What is your price? What is your rule? Your principle? You must remember. It was part of your making: the strongest part of you._

_Yet_, Celty thought, I_ do not need to be strong for always._

The twilight people paid no attention. _Set apart, stay away. Love, love—love, for love of a human is dangerous to your kind. Love is only love, love alone! Love alone, and death comes. What will you do then? It is your doom. You will be lost. Why yield to death's power, why submit yourself to the ignoble end? It is not too late, not late yet; fate may yet be repealed. It is not needful, it is without reason. Repent of your foolishness before us. _They pressured and harried her.

But she broke away at last, and spoke back to them. _It is only death...and death is not my enemy. I do not fear it. I would not abandon love to live on for another few centuries. I would not leave before that time. I will not be selfish of my time. I would live as fäerie, and die a human, and remain ever in the tween. It is my wish to make._

_You will be compelled, and the fury of reckoning will come to you, _taunted the twilight people. _Test your human husband's faith and he shall swear an oath! We will be proven aright. We are always proven right; and every woman comes back to us, as they are bound. Just once, just once you will be tempted, and fall!_

_Never,_ she swore, and the people of the twilight vanished away. _It is unnecessary. I will not!_

The dream melted, smoking, emitting strange intoxicating and fanciful fumes, like a cobweb burning. She awoke. Celty opened her eyes to sunlight and birdsong, Shinra at her side. She shook her head to clear it, and blinked to take in the scene. _This_ is where she belongs. She has chosen, and she will be a good wife as a Dullahan.

Celty sank back under the blankets. With this, the ceremony is complete, as the twilight world has concluded the condition of marriage has been met, and she is no longer recognized as one of them: not until the day she abandons Shinra, or dies. With luck, Shinra will never have to know the exact price she paid. She kissed his cheek, and went back to sleep.

The twilight world would not bother her after that night, preferring to leave the ravages of time to prove their prophecies. She would prove them wrong. And perhaps—perhaps they would change, as one of their number had been changed.

She would not be homeless again. Without Ireland at her beck and call, she could form alliances with other nations. And this she intended to do when she returned to Japan with her husband—as soon as she found a patch of ground to walk barefoot in, that is. A new land would become her strength. For it was impossible to stay where she had been, and there was much to look forward to where she would be.


	23. Chapter 11

_Characters: Namie Yagiri, Izaya Orihara, President Lory Takarada, Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty Sturluson, Shinra Kishitani_

Chapter 11: In Which Flu Addles the Adult Brain of a Usually Sane Character

"Namie. Namie..." It kept repeating. Over and over.

What was this? Her conscience? _Annoying_... She sighed and stirred.

"Namie...Na_mie_..." The hoarse whisper spoke of increasing desperation.

Namie's eyes popped open. _Izaya_? Was that_ him_?

She hauled herself to her feet and lurched toward the sound. Whatever could be the matter...? Ugh, she felt nasty, her hair was a mess, how long had she slept...?

She reached the doorway and leaned through. Izaya was half-in, half-out of bed, and he was scrabbling desperately to pull himself back up on the very verge of falling out entirely, head-first. On the wet floor below were the sharp, smashed remains of the waterglass she had put on his bedside table the night before.

Namie darted to his side, planted her feet carefully around the glass, scooped him and the blankets into her arms, and pushed him back onto the bed. "Don't move," she ordered, moving very carefully, and then she fetched the broom and dustpan and dealt with the glass. Meanwhile, Izaya tried to extricate himself from the blankets and failed miserably.

"Need some help?"

Izaya looked away. "Please."

Namie tisked her tongue and got him sorted despite his (very feeble) childlike, fumbling resistance. "Do you need anything else?" she asked him.

Izaya slid his tongue over the cracks in his lips. "Water. In something that won't shatter," Izaya said pointedly, and glared at her as if the broken glass was her fault. Which it was. Sort of.

Namie nodded and did as he asked. She rummaged around in the kitchen for a while and eventually found some plastic cups. She took it to him and he drank the water. Namie surreptitiously checked his forehead with her fingers. _Burning, burning very hot._ Oh, crap. Oh, crap crap crap. If it was over 38.9° C (102º F) ...

Izaya moved restlessly under her hand, struggling to extricate his arms. "Namie, I'm sweltering. This bed is like an oven. Could you put back the blankets...?"

She did so, folding them sideways in a triangle. Then she pulled his feet out from underneath. "Simply fold these back over if you get cold with chills," she instructed him. "Which you probably will. I'm going to get you some medicine, okay?" She turned off the light she had absentmindedly flicked on.

"Namie..."

"I know, I know, I got it!" she shouted from the kitchen, as worry was quickly converted to irritation. "I'll be back soon! Stop whining! I got you!" That was what she said, but somehow, even as she shouted, Namie was struck by her own protective feelings. Her surprise assaulted her with memories. This was the man she wanted to poison only six months ago. The same one, wasn't it?

Izaya subsided.

She fetched a compress, and searched in the cabinet for medicines. Hmm. Weren't any. Did he get sick very often? She'd been with him for over a year and she couldn't remember him even getting allergies, or a cold. She found the temperature gauge.

She came back and took his temperature, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it was 37.7° C. Not hospital-worthy, but just barely. "You're not going anywhere today. _Or _tomorrow. Or for a while yet. I'll call your bosses for you."

"What are you talking about?" Izaya said hoarsely. A couple of tears licked out from under his eyelids. "I'm not crying," he muttered. He scraped at his eyes, and once again insisted, "It's _nothing_."

"Yes, I know. It's the fever," Namie said, her voice at its very dryest. "Even you wouldn't be so stupid as to cry over missing work."

Izaya sniffled most inopportunely. Namie let the barest glimmer of a smile seep through her iron will.

"_Gaki_," she said gently. "Brat. I'll take care of it. You probably caught the flu Kadota came down with. Which means you'll probably be taking care of me soon enough. Must be virulent. If Kadota mysteriously transferred his illness to you somehow, that poor Shizuo probably caught it from you while you two were dancing." She sighed. "I'll probably catch it before its run is over. I need to take a shower. Will you be all right for half an hour?"

Izaya nodded.

"Don't start crying for me all the time, now," Namie warned him. "I mean it. I have to trust you. Little Boy cries Wolf and—" Namie cut a line across her throat. "I might not be there when you need me. Got it?"

Izaya nodded again.

"Good."

* * *

Namie put a hand to her temple. It was cool—for now anyway. The breakfast she was making for him and herself was a fruit smoothie in the blender of pineapple and mango and oranges and papaya. Hopefully, lots of Vitamin C would stave this off...though there wasn't much hope, at this point.

The phone rang.

Namie sighed, set down the knife, rinsed her hands quickly, and picked up the phone. She couldn't move far from the phone as it still had a cord. "Hello? You have reached the residence of Izaya Orihara. Who is speaking?"

"President of LME, Lory Takarada speaking," the phone announced grandly, in a way that left no doubt that he really was the man he claimed he was.

"I am sorry, sir, my boss Orihara Izaya is very sick right now and cannot answer any calls," said Namie, tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Although I can take a message."

"That is quite all right." Lory paused, and then said, "I wanted to talk to you, actually."

Namie almost dropped the phone. "_What?_"

"You live with him, do you not? You being his secretary is just a cover story because you aren't married. Someone in the lower ranks of LME would not typically have the financial resources to hire a secretary."

"Um, yes, no—_no_, but—"

"Then you must know something about him and Heiwajima-san, do you not?"

"Yes, now, but about—"

"You see, I need to ask someone who knows them well about an idea that I think might work. I would like to see them able to work together, you see," said Lory.

There was a poignant pause. "Commendable," said Namie, shortly, when she gotten control of herself, "But in the foreseeable future, I think it is impossible."

"And I think otherwise, and you are less certain of that than you think you are."

Who was this guy? A wizard, or something? The gall. What kind of president meddled with his entry-level employees like this? _Get to the point!_ "Fine!" Namie snapped. _Like it matters what I think!_

"Something tells me that things changed recently as regards their situation. Am I wrong?"

"What makes you think that?" Namie asked warily.

"You didn't waste your time arguing with me. So, perhaps something happened recently that changed your mind, but you hadn't gotten so far as to admit it yet. Your first opinion was based on habit."

_Who the idiot is this?!_ the back of her mind shrieked.

Namie sighed and leaned back on the counter. "I suppose. I don't understand all of what happened," she said reluctantly. "Now don't get excited. They already started cooperating. If you can call it that."

"Hmm. What changed?"

"You know they are rivals, right? There was an— It was their mutual friends." Namie exhaled in frustration. "This isn't going to make any sense at all, you know that? Both their best friends got married, chose them as groomsmen, and forbid them from fighting. At some point the bride and the groom got drunk and dared Heiwajima and Orihara to dance with each other. They accepted the dare, they did it. Did a spectacular job, actually, but let me tell you, it was a relief that the reception hall was still intact at the end."

"So what would be the significance of this incident, specifically?"

"They cooperated. Actually Heiwajima-san was leading everything Izaya did. It changed the power dynamic."

_Ah. The opposite of the act they put on when they got into LME, _thought Lory._ How interesting. _"How so?"

"Heiwajima-san was in perfect control of himself. For the moment, I mean. Before, Izaya has always held the reins, and Heiwajima champed at them. But he broke the pattern yesterday. What that will mean...I don't know. I can't imagine why Heiwajima-san wouldn't want revenge," Namie said frankly. "And as for what Izaya will do..." she sighed. "He won't want to let go."

"Sounds like good news," Lory commented, as if he hadn't heard what she said, though he had.

"It can't last," Namie insisted.

But Lory was equally stubborn. "Oh, but I would like to _make_ it last. I'd rather they became equals," he said mildly.

"They'd have to be friends first," Namie objected. "And on that score, I have two words for you: _fat chance_. There's a better chance of the Messiah coming to Earth tomorrow. At least that was prophesied," she said darkly.

She heard clicking sounds, as if Lory was making a note, and then Lory chuckled. "All right. I believe my plan is complete. And you have a very lovely sarcastic streak, by the way."

That meant the conversation was at an end. She had to convince him fast—but there wasn't time to think up a reasonable argument. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not going to work!" Namie screeched into the receiver.

"Haven't you ever heard that things get worse before they get better?" said Lory, sounding amused.

"That's _exactly_ why I'm worried!"

"Duly noted. Rest assured, those two will be carefully monitored. The situation should be put under control in safe, confined circumstances where a certain influential person could easily intervene before chaos took over, don't you agree? However, I have full faith in them. They are magnificent young men. If they could do it once, they can do it again."

"You can't just throw them together and expect them to come out of it just fine!"

"Eventually, yes. But give me some credit. It seems the newlyweds did the hardest work for me, overcoming the first hurdle—always good to hear. Please thank them for me. Now is the time to start pushing, discreetly."

"No it's not!"

"If I give them a break, they will just go back to how they were, and nothing will have been gained. Surely you sense that, Ms. Fake Secretary. Don't breathe a word of this to Orihara-san; it will only make things worse. It's very important that neither of them suspect what I am about to do."

"I'd trust you, _Mr. President_, but darn it, I have nothing to threaten with you with if this goes wrong," Namie grumbled. "On_ your own head be it_!"

Lory chuckled and hung up.

Oh, he was toying with her! No—that wasn't quite it. He was probably a real idiot. What kind of person _encouraged_ chaos? When Izaya started bringing his work problems home, life would become difficult. She should be trying to protect her best interests. Or maybe she should try to be optimistic for Izaya's sake...before she became paranoid...

She glanced at the hall leading to Izaya's bedroom. Now that she thought of it, it was something of an ill omen that he had gotten sick right after this leap forward. She was a _scientist_, she shouldn't be superstitious, she had vowed never to follow in her silly fearful traditional mother's footsteps, but as soon as she had the thought, premonitions of doom and bad luck descended as clouds. _Fate_. She couldn't fight it, if such a thing existed. The universe had its ways. She wouldn't give into such beliefs—wouldn't act on them—but now and then they leaned on her mind like heavy little lumps of lead, clouding her vision with grey, and nothing stopped her from feeling them.

Namie vented her feelings by the smashing hapless fruit into a pulp with a stick. Then she turned on the blender. Entranced, she watched the pulp whip into sweet juice. The frozen, nearly manic grin on her face faded only when her finger slipped from the button and the whirling stopped. The fruit was smooth.

She took a deep breath.

Oh yes, destruction was satisfying. She couldn't fix anything else right now, but this—this would do, as a stand-in.

Namie licked her fingers, ran her tongue over her teeth and chapped lips. _Yes. You—you just have to get through this. Whatever happens to Izaya, whatever _changes_, you focus on your job right now. You do what makes you happy. _Her eyes drifted to a picture of Seiji she kept pinned to the refrigerator by a magnet. _Even...despite..._him_. It's time._

Namie turned the picture over, to the white side, and pinned it back to the fridge. She refused to look at it, after that.

* * *

Izaya was not a good patient. For one thing, he was very sick. For another, he was ornery. When he was too sick to be ornery he was too insensible to take care of himself or be cooperative. He tended to hallucinate—not alarmingly so, but sometimes he said he could see glowing bugs in places where they shouldn't be. When he became sensate, he was insufferable when he could make himself understood, and miserable when he could not. The only relief Namie got was when he was sleeping, because then he stopped moving or moaning or whining or complaining or aching or simply breathing loudly. Izaya had a way of broadcasting his misery that was very hard to ignore, but he hardly ever asked for help after the first time. But since Namie was suffering because Izaya was suffering, she ended up being extra nice and coddling him anyway. At the end of every day, Namie was as tired as he was, and just as cranky.

Namie persevered through all of that, and then, just as she predicted, Namie got sick on the last day of Izaya's convalescence—his symptoms cleared up as suddenly as he had come down with the illness. Namie's flu wasn't as bad as Izaya's. Namie figured Izaya could have gone to work and left her to rest in peace, but he didn't. She had no idea why. She didn't want him to go to LME just yet, but it wasn't for her sake; it was because she knew President Lory Takarada was up to something, and she didn't think she could deal with an unpredictable Izaya in her current state. But Namie hadn't even hinted at what _she_ herself wanted.

Izaya stayed home instead and got caught up on his informant work. He spent almost the whole day typing on the computer, except for occasions when he had a coughing fit or picked up the phone to make a call. Namie had very little idea what he was doing except when he occasionally turned around to ask her a question or make a comment about something.

Stuff like, "Kadota's gang is so busy doing volunteer work these days I should start calling them the full-time Dollars. Or perhaps I should illicitly register them as a part-time charity. Which would be more amusing?"

Or, "Awakusagumi picked a fight with so-and-so, which means that blah-blah-blah, do you know when we last changed the locks, Namie?... Well, in that case, make a call to the locksmith when you're feeling better."

Or, "Mikado-kun needs to get a life. Why did he take down the chats again? What is he trying to evolve, his _society_? Oh good, they're up again." Dot dot dot. "No way, he has new _rules_. Stop that! You know I'm just going to pick them apart! You're _giving me _more loopholes!_ You're giving me what I waaaaant! _It's no fun if you don't fight, Mikado-_kunnnn_!" and he slapped the keyboard.

Or, "I don't know who that reporter guy is trying to kid, he's not fooling anyone. Why must my beloved humans let themselves be misled by such a madman? It was so much better when Shizuo's little brother was doing it. Huh, Namie, are you listening?" And she replied, "I've never heard of him before," and Izaya made a flat, disappointed noise. "Yes you have, you just don't remember," he said, and turned back to the computer screen.

It might almost have passed for his way of cheering her up. Which it did, sort of, except he needn't have bothered. Namie never felt the need to raise her spirits while she was sick. The trick she always used was to beat the _boredom_ and force her brain to stop thinking while she suffered a headache from the pressure on her sinuses that made thinking painful. And she didn't precisely need Izaya around to do that.

Because she had expected Izaya to go to work, Namie neglected to change out of her pajamas. She parked herself on the sofa and watched her dramas, and studiously tried to ignore him. Eventually it became clear that Izaya was not going to leave, but she was tired, and didn't feel up to changing her ways, so she relaxed. She watched a lot a lot a lot of dramas, and Izaya poked holes in all of them. Namie was too tired to do more than roll her eyes, and sometimes Izaya was genuinely funny, or he said something that she _had_ wanted to say, and so in the end she didn't really mind. The only thing she got up to do was to make tea. A lot a lot a lot of tea. Izaya heated frozen TV dinners in the oven and managed not to burn them.

She fell asleep, woke up on the sofa (the TV was still on) at 7 AM in the morning, and Izaya was gone, back to work, and she had never really needed him at home. Back to LME, back to the life that President Takarada had promised her was going to be set off kilter. Izaya left an explanatory note for his absence on the fridge on the back of Seiji's photograph. Namie felt briefly annoyed at this, but then became somewhat amused. It was her fault for turning the photograph the wrong way, of course—that gave Izaya his excuse. Namie could almost see him mistaking the white of the photograph for notepaper if he was in a hurry. But there was no sign that he had been in a rush, and doing that seemed sloppy, and Izaya had an eye for detail, so writing on the photograph must have been intentional. He could have found something else to write on, but he chose _that._

He always had to make a point.

Suddenly sleepy again, Namie yawned, shut the window curtains, found a blanket, curled back up on the couch. For now, all was well, and it was a good feeling. _Of all things...d__on't break this, Izaya. _Namie curled tightly around herself, and prayed. _Don't break the peace, no matter how fragile it is—not today. Not now that I've found out what this thing called peace is, at last. Let us come to know it! Would you do it for me? If I asked you?_

* * *

Izaya wasn't looking forward to a change in routine. So when Kyoko and Moko informed him that the President wanted to see him, he was uncertain as to how to proceed. He doubted that his work had been unsatisfactory. He hadn't fought with Shizuo, either inside or outside of work, for nearly three months. As the thought crossed his mind, he realized, with a jolt, that he had been subconsciously counting the days and itching for a conflict, any conflict, like an addict. And sure, he had repressed it, but _that_ was not good, not as a long-term strategy.

And since the dance at the wedding... Izaya tried not to think about it. He would not enter a one-on-one fight he did not foresee the end of. He would _not._ Right now, Shizuo was unpredictable. Unpredictable people were fatally dangerous. It was not allowed.

Izaya shoved his thoughts back under his control and stalked to the President's office.

To his surprise, Shizuo was already standing there at attention.

They glanced at each other, looked away. Izaya took the other side of the door rather than stand next to Shizuo.

The door to the President's office suite flew open.

_British explorer/archaeologist, _Izaya noted clinically, and tried to focus. Shizuo furiously blinked his eyes as if he was standing in front of a bright light.

"Orihara-san! Heiwajima-san! Come in, _please~_!" Somewhow, the President pushed the two men in front of him and swept them both inside the office. And someone shut the door. Shizuo flinched as if someone had shot a gun, and a minor tremor ran through him—the palpable tension of being stuck with Izaya, with no way out. So Shizuo wasn't completely immune to Izaya's presence—just enough to tolerate it. Nevertheless, Izaya half expected one of the pretty pictures in the room to fall from its hook and crack its glass with a cartoon crash from the buildup of pressure in the room.

None did.

The President bade them to sit.

They sat.

He poured them tea, and they drank.

President Takarada took a deep breath, folded his hands. Shizuo was clearly tense, but not about to act. Izaya—Izaya's face was at its blankest and most serious since he had met him. Usually he had a smirk or sarcastic twist to his lip, but today there was none of that, and he was studiously not looking at Shizuo (and therefore not provoking him). Takarada began. "It has come to my attention that the two of you have been avoiding each other since you started working, and that in doing so you have each monopolized Moko and Kyoko's time. Please explain."

Izaya replied, at his most blasé, "We don't work together well." _Understatement._

"As a LoveMe member, I expect you both to be _willing_ to collaborate with all of your coworkers," said President Lory. "Cooperative team skills are a vital part of the LoveMe program."

Izaya saw what he was doing. It was only a small step from "be willing" to "_I expect you to work with everyone._"

"You must overcome the personality conflicts between you before a crisis actually requires you to work together," Lory continued. "And that requires practice. Henceforth, I want to see you and Izaya working together at all times."

"If you insist," said Izaya woodenly. Shizuo simply stared down at his hands.

"In addition, I have a special assignment for the two of you." President Takarada dug into his desk and retrieved two red paper hearts, and handed one to Izaya and one to Shizuo. "You must complete it by the end of spring. You may now go."

Izaya and Shizuo bolted from their seats like rabbits. Once outside, they studiously turned their backs to each other, and read the red hearts' assignments in the hall outside.

Izaya clenched his fist and hissed. Shizuo swore in a constant stream of a couple of languages. Izaya couldn't help wincing a little when the word happened to be Russian—how much time did Shizuo spend around Simon, anyway?—but otherwise he didn't react.

_What's to stop me from walking out now, I wonder? _Izaya thought. Shizuo was probably thinking the same thing.

But he wasn't.

Shizuo ripped his heart into tiny pieces. "If you walk out on me now, I will _grind you into the dust with my heel_, flea," said Shizuo scowling, "You hear? You may have gotten me into this, but I won't let you back out now. _We're not done_." There was a particular gleam in Shizuo's eye, only not quite a glare, that looked much too serious.

Izaya resisted the urge to swallow. Right. Threats. President Takarada must have offered Shizuo something, something he really wanted, which required Izaya's cooperation to obtain it. A permanent job, maybe. That wasn't enough to stop Izaya if Izaya really wanted to walk out, but— It wasn't the reaction he had been expecting from Shizuo. And that made him cautiously curious. "Where are you going?" Izaya called.

"To get a mop. What else?" Shizuo said loudly without looking for Izaya. "Hall I-BA. It was on our sign-in sheet this morning."

Izaya swore and scampered to get cleaning supplies. Hall I-BA was the hardest one to clean in the whole building, due to the structure of the rooms and the placement of some unfortunate choices for ornaments. _I am actually doing this. I am willingly going to tear down all the work I put into Shizuo._

_Although the wedding showed that was coming apart anyway._

_I need something new_, Izaya thought, desperately. _I can't let this happen. We have to be permanently divided somehow. If we work together, we keep ourselves distant._

He looked back at the scrap of paper. This wasn't going to work. Not at all.

* * *

_To Orihara Izaya:_

_Go visit an old people's home and cheer them up. Your job is not done until everyone has smiled at least once, but for a perfect one hundred points, everyone must be smiling at the same time. Find a script you both agree to act out, and create a short comedy skit and perform it with Heiwajima-san. Because it is indelicate, slapstick comedy is not allowed to be used for this exercise. You may tell him that this is your assignment, which is due March 3rd. You must complete this task to continue to be employed as a LoveMe member._

_Heiwajima-san has another task that he will need your help with. So help._

_To Heiwajima Shizuo:_

_Behave. Breathe deep. Attend the company yoga sessions with Izaya. You must convince him to do this at least once without letting on that this is your task, but for a perfect one hundred points, you must do it together regularly. You may take as long as you need to accomplish this task. When you complete it, I will send you the five-year contract._

_Orihara-san has another task that he will need your help with. So help._

* * *

_Author's Note:_ _Again, I encourage you, my dear readers, to review. You have all been quite silent as of late, which makes me wonder whether I have been doing my job. Just drop a note—it's quite easy to make me happy. If you are unsatisfied with the story, then I prefer to know rather than listen to silence. And if you like it—just say so! Even with just three words._


	24. Recess 11

Recess #11: ABC Checklist of Labwork Reserved for Namie Yagiri When She Has Time / Seasonal Responsibilities, Created by Okabe Rintarou in Under Five Minutes in His Infinite Spare Time, in No Particular Order of Precedence

_*!* to be checked over by coworkers—meant to be skimmed *!*_

a) perform alchemy _(you realize that's a **magic trick**, right?)_ _Kurisu's note: Translation—this is his roundabout way of saying he wants you to **attempt the impossible as if it was entirely reasonable**. Although I'm sure he'd be quite pleased to watch you try._

b) develop specialized chemicals for use in new instruments

c) invisibility (w/ Kurisu) _Namie's note: **As if!** I can't catch up that fast! Kurisu's note: Too right_

d) treating time-travel sickness _(Namie's mental note: **collab. with Shinra**)_

e) analyze the chemical structure of gel-bananas and their possible beneficial properties _Mayuri's added note: analyze **gel-anythings!**_

f) solar cell research (?) _Kurisu's note: He wants to know how it works, just rip it from Google_

g) sort real moon rocks from fake _(geology books on the second bookshelf third down!)_ _Kurisu's note: They're most likely all fake, they're from Okabe's childhood collection and he's gullible..._ _Okabe's scribble: I got at least three when I was fifteen at a reputable museum! But I can't remember which they are! Kurisu: uh-huh Namie: All fakes Kurisu: I told you so Okabe: Humph, I'll test them myself. Kurisu: I **told** you so_

h) provide a use for _ _(useless invention of the month here) Okabe's note: they're not useless! Namie (**seconded by Kurisu**): Debatable_

i) help Okabe create _ _(useless invention of the month here) __Okabe's note: they're NOT USELESS! Namie: They won't be if **I'm** going to be the one designing them_

j) El Psy Congroo / Reading Steiner test (?) _Kurisu: Don't ask, you won't even know he did it—it technically takes 0 seconds_

k) the perfect saline solution for saltwater fish _(a present for Nae—?)_

l) a science experiment volcano for a party / bottle rockets... _("scientific **party tricks**" — a birthday for Nae—?)_

m) refining metals; coating metals for custom microchips _(Daru's **old PC refurb** project)_; stripping the wires / coating _(do it with Mayuri while watching her favorite anime)_

n) chemo-particle/quantum physics _(time physics - learn from Kurisu)_

o) participate in brainstorming _(it'll be done in meetings anyway)_

p) distract Mayushi _(sew outfits with her, try them on)_ - a.k.a., cosplay at key moments. _Namie's note: Yeah right. Mayuri's note: Aaaa Nami-chan but you'll liiiiiike it 3 I got the perfect outfits for you*!* It will be nice you'll see *!*_

q) create flashy pyrotechnic things _(Chinese New Year tradition)_

r) DNA analysis_ (do we have the equipment...? And what will we be analyzing for?)_ _Kurisu: no, forget it, not important, he's just curious_

s) spot and kill all mold/fungi growing on walls _(you call this a **chemistry lab**?!) Kurisu: you have a point, so I'll hire the appropriate agencies; meantime, don't stir up anything sensitive here!_

t) compare brands of Windex, clean the lab

u) re-create an artificial substance with a texture that could pass for blood, preferably with home-make materials _Kurisu: Okabe's paranoid, please humor him, it's for a** good **cause._

v) Easter eggs _(dyes are expensive...!) Kurisu's note: Just give me the calculations and I'll figure the budget ahead of time; and no, not necessarily expensive, with the right preparations. I'll get you a recipe._

w) Untangling slinkies that Okabe was going to use for some project-or-other... _Kurisu's note: Some other scientists got to this already, don't rush_

x) post-tsunami, using a Geiger counter or other device to calculate the radioactive fallout around the lab _Namie's note: slightly above average but **insignificant**, of course..._

y) teach Daru how to be a 3D gentleman _Namie's note: srsly? NO. Daru's note: Please?! OK, the truth is that extenuating circumstances req. me to find "mai waifu" before the year [**XXXX**], for various reasons which we recently found out through our time experiments. Namie's note: I am not going to be **accessory** to a time paradox. Sorry. It will happen or it won't._

z) cook something nobody has eaten before or buy dinner for everyone (_Namie's note: time for **Korean Black Sauce**)._

* * *

Author's Note:

I hope you caught my casual digs at science and recent discoveries and advances. When you are at the forefront of a science, things can go in and out of vogue very quickly. Of course Okabe is supposed to be focusing on time-travel, but come on, why not dabble in something else for a bit, if he can manage it? The new discoveries might have unexpected implications for his current work.

My excuse for the Easter-egg dyeing: that's Kurisu's thing. There would be no reason for the rest to celebrate otherwise, as Easter is a Christian tradition...but dyeing eggs is always a fun, messy experiment, which has to be the kind of thing Okabe loves.

I hope you got a good idea of what Namie's new workplace is like.

Yep, this chapter was kind of random, but rest assured: plot will be coming back soon through the newest interstitial sections, the "recesses."


End file.
